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THE 


CHEERFUL    HEART; 


"A  SILVER  LINING  TO   EVERY 
CLOUD." 


ILLUSTRATED   WITH  ENGRAVINGS. 


•  • 

1 Q^  ^,  i 
BOSTON:' 

PHILLIPS, 

SAMPSON,   AND 

COMPANY. 

NEW  YORK  :    J.  C.  DERBY. 

1854. 

■?*' 

•^».* 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1854,  by 
Phillips,  Sampson,  and  Compakt, 
In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


RTEBEOTTPXS  AT  THK 
BOSTOK  STEBBOTTFE  FOOKDBT. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

PAQB 

DAISY  VALLEY  AND  ITS  INHABITANTS,     ...  7 

CHAPTER  II. 

DEATH  IN  THE  VALLEY 42 

CHAPTER   III. 

THE  HERMIT, 61 

CHAPTER     IV. 

CONCLUSION, 128 

(5) 


Illttsfratans. 


I. 

OKNAMENTAL  TITLE  PAGE. 

II. 
THE  SYLVAN  LAKE. 

III. 
THE  WATERFALL. 

IV. 

THE  HERMIT. 

V. 

THE  ACADEMY. 

VI. 

THE  FARM  YARD. 


(6) 


THE  CHEEEFUL  HEART. 


CHAPTER  I. 


DAISY    VALLEY  AND   ITS  INHABITANTS. 

Ah,  such  a  sweet  place  was  Daisy  Yalley, 
nestled  among  the  tills  which  seemed  to  shut  it 
in  from  the  rest  of  the  world,  with  its  "  cark 
and  care."  From  beyond  the  mountains  there 
stole  out  a  stream  which  gently  wound  'itself 
among  the  grand  old  trees  which  skirted  its 
banks.  Its  waters  were  so  clear  that  the  peb- 
bles far  down  in  its  bosom  could  be  distinctly 
seen.  The  whole  surface  of  the  valley,  from  the 
river  to  the  blue  hills  which  encircled  it,  was 
carpeted  with  soft,  green  grass,  which  looked 
like  velvet  of  the  finest  texture ;  and  all  about 
this  the  bright-eyed  daisies  peeped  up  from  their 

(7) 


8  THE  CHEERFUL  HEART. 

hiding-places,  and  gave  to  the  valley  its  name. 
They  were  no  common  daisies,  but  were  far  more 
beautiful  than  those  which  reared  themselves 
amid  the  far-off  fields  and  thoroughfares  of  the 
noisy  world  beyond.  And,  now  and  then,  amid 
these  daisies  a  cottage  could  be  seen,  with  a 
neat  garden  in  front,  and  as  many  trees  as 
could  be  made  to  grow  around  it ;  for  trees 
were  sacred  things  in  that  valley,  and  much 
time  was  devoted  to  their  culture.  Even  the 
dead  ones  remained  standing,  and  over  them 
vines  were  trained,  which  concealed  their  un- 
Bightliness.  Many  flowers,  besides  their  favorite 
daisy,  were  cultivated  by  the  dwellers  in  the 
valley  ;  for  they  looked  upon  these  "  stars  of 
earth"  as  ministers  from  heaven,  speaking  of 
the  love  and  goodness  of  their  Maker.  Sweet 
human  flowers  bloomed  here  also,  and,  with 
their  loveliness,  cheered  the  saddened  heart,  and 
bade  it  look  up  to  Him  who  never  willingly 
afflicts,  but  is  always  ready  to  pour  upon  the 
sufferer  the  balm  of  consolation. 


DAISY  VALLEY  AND  ITS  INHABITANTS.  9 

There  were,  perhaps,  twenty  cottages  in  the 
valley,  inhabited  by  a  people  who  dwelt  in  love 
one  with  another.  They  had  learned  to  be 
happy  in  doing  as  they  would  be  done  by,  and 
in  this  way  their  time  passed  profitably  and 
agreeably  to  themselves  and  to  those  around 
them.  They  were  not  always,  however,  such  a 
contented  community,  for  the  time  had  been 
when  the  cottages,  now  so  smiling  and  lovely, 
were  neglected,  and  tall,  rank  weeds  grew  where 
beauteous  flowers  now  oped  their  petals  to  thg 
morning  sun.  But  a  mighty  change  fell  upon 
that  valley,  and  where  once  wildernesses  of 
unsightly  shrubs  grew,  groves  of  lovely  trees 
sprang  up,  whose  slender  stems  bent  gracefully 
towards  the  sunlight  which  gave  brightness  and 
health  to  the  valley  ;  and  gentle  rivulets  watered 
the  roots  of  those  trees  as  they  glided  into  the 
river  which  flowed  onward  to  its  ocean  home. 
But  how  was  all  this  brought  about  ?  Through 
the  influence  of  one  cheerful,  loving  heart.  This 
may  seem  impossible  to  the  reader  without  faith ; 


10  THE  CHEEEFUL  HEAET. 

but  to  those  who  possess  this  heavenly  quality, 
the  change  which  took  place  in  the  Yalley  of 
Daisies  will  cause  not  a  doubt  to  arise  in'  their 
hearts,  but  will  only  strengthen  them  in  their 
belief  that  faith  with  works  can  achieve  won- 
ders. 

But  to  my  story.  In  one  of  the  largest  and 
prettiest  cottages  nestled  among  those  oaks, 
whose  towering  heads  seem  to  reach  the  sky, 
dwelt  the  principal  character  which  will  figure 
in  these  pages.  His  is  no  tall  and  commanding 
person,  wi^  dignified  air  and  bearing,  or  voice 
whose  trumpet  tones  could  cause  the  hills  which 
surrounded  the  valley  to  reecho  its  notes,  but  a 
gentle  boy  of  twelve  years,  whose  flaxen  curls 
and  mild  blue  eyes,  together  with  a  light  and 
graceful,  but  feeble,  frame,  seemed  to  speak 
painfully  of  the  slight  hold  he  had  upon  earth. 
But  within  that  delicate  tenement  dwelt  a  spirit 
so  beautiful  and  so  strong,  that  all  grew  bet- 
ter as  they  listened  to  the  words  which  fell 
from  those  guiltless  lips.    Arthur  Burton  was 


DAISY  VALLEY  AND   ITS  INHABITANTS.         11 

the  son  of  a  widow,  who,  when  her  husband 
died,  felt  that  but  for  her  cTiildren  (Arthur, 
and  a  little  sister  too  young  to  realize  her 
loss)  she  should  have  sunk  under  her  severe 
trials.  She  was  comparatively  a  stranger  in  a 
strange  land,  for  she  was  born  beneath  the 
skies  of  Italy,  and  after  the  death  of  her  hus- 
band she  sighed  for  her  own  beloved  home, 
and  for  her  mother,  who  yet  mourned  for  her 
only  child,  who  had  left  her  to  share  a  stranger's 
home  and  heart  in  a  distant  land. 

Captain  Burton  was  one  of  those  noble  men 
who  seem  to  grow  better  and  purer  by  mixing 
with  a  world  in  which  so  much  of  evil  dwells. 
He  possessed  an  excellent  disposition  and  a 
superior  mind,  which  had  been  cultivated  by  his 
parents,  who  had  early  sown  there  seeds  which 
in  after  life  grew  and  brought  forth  much  fruit. 
The  same  disease  had  swept  them  both  to  the 
grave  in  his  early  youth ;  but  he  never  forgot 
their  counsels,  or  made  light  of  their  reproofs. 
They  left  him  a  small  fortune,  which  he  had  in- 


12  THE  CHEERFUL  HEART. 

creased  by  the  business  which  he  had  chosen  — 
that  of  a  sailor.  He  was  greatly  beloved  by  his 
companions  for  his  frank,  noble  qualities,  which 
would  always  induce  him  to  share  his  last  crust 
with  any  person  in  want.  When  he  became  mas- 
ter of  a  vessel,  more  were  eager  to  sail  with  him 
than  he  could  employ ;  and  although  he  always 
maintained  proper  discipline,  yet  his  men  knew 
that  he  was  right,  and  would  have  laid  down 
their  lives  for  him  at  any  time.  In  one  of  his 
voyages  up  the  Mediterranean,  he  left  his  ship 
at  a  safe  port,  under  the  care  of  his  mate,  and 
made  an  excursion  to  the  lovely  Bay  of  Naples, 
and  to  Yesuvius,  which  he  had  a  great  desire  to 
see  in  a  state  of  eruption.  His  wish  was  grati- 
fied ;  yet  he  lingered,  for  a  sweet  human  plant 
claimed  his  attention  and  won  his  love. 

Marianna  Ladoni  was  worthy  the  affection  of 
the  young  captain,  and  was  every  way  his  equal 
in  excellence.  She  loved  the  beautiful  bay,  by 
whose  side  she  had  always  dwelt ;  very  dear  to 
her  were  her  mother  and  her  old  and  faithful 


DAISY  VALLEY  AND  ITS  INHABITANTS.        13* 

nurse,  who  had  petted  her  from  her  birth,  and 
who,  as  she  had  arrived  at  woman's  estate,  was 
so  proud  of  her  beauty  ;  yet  she  loved  the  young 
stranger  better  than  "all,  and  she  had  cheerfully 
promised  to  share  his  home  beneath  colder 
skies,  and  to  change  her  sweet  sounding  Italian 
name  for  one  less  musical.  Yes,  Marianna  left 
her  home,  but  she  sighed  not ;  for  he  whom  she 
prized  above  all  others  was  with  her,  and  she 
was  happy.  She  knew  that  he  was  worthy,  and 
it  is  "  such  happiness  to  the  pure  to  love."  For  a 
few  years  "  Time  trod  on  flowers  "  with  the  wed- 
ded pair.  Two  lovely  children  were  given  them, 
and  in  rearing  these  tender  plants  their  happi- 
ness seemed  perfect.  Captain  Burton  had  ac- 
cumulated sufficient  to  afford  them  an  ample 
support ;  he  had  given  up  his  business,  and  the 
united  family  bade  fair  to  pass  many  years  of 
usefulness  together.  But  alas !  how  uncertain 
are  all  earthly  things!  sickness  came,  and  the 
strong  man  bowed  before  it.  All  that  science 
could  do  was  done  ;  but  the  command  had  gone 
2 


14  THE  CHEERFUL  HEART. 

forth,  and  that  husband  and  father,  touched  by  the 
icy  finger  of  Death,  slept  the  sleep  which  knows 
no  waking.  Ere  he  died  he  had  selected  the 
spot  in  the  beautiful  Yalley  of  Daisies  (as  he  had 
named  it)  where  he  had  commenced  the  cottage 
which  his  widow  now  occupied.  One  day  when 
visiting  this  place,  himself  and  wife,  upon  observ- 
ing the  state  of  the  inhabitants,  had  resolved  to 
remove  there,  and  by  their  influence  and  exam- 
ple to  strive  to  improve  a  people  wlio  lived  in 
the  midst  of  all  that  could  render  life  desirable, 
so  far  as  beauty  of  situation  and  fertility  of  soil 
was  concerned.  Before  Captain  Burton  died,  he 
called  Arthur  to  his  side,  and  entreated  him  to 
carry  out  his  plans.  The  child  looked  upon  his 
dying  parent,  and  with  his  whole  soul  in  his 
eyes  made  the  promise  which,  although  so  young, 
he  perfectly  understood.  There  had  always  been 
something  remarkable  about  the  boy,  who,  with 
his  fragile  frame  and  lovely  expression  of  coun- 
tenance, had  seemed  but  half  of  earth.  The 
father  died,  and  those  children  had  been  an  in- 


DAISY  VALLEY  AND   ITS   INHABITANTS.         15 

expressible  comfort  to  the  lone  mother.  Mrs. 
Burton  had  removed  to  the  cottage  in  the  valley, 
and  the  little  family  had  dwelt  there  two  years 
when  this  story  commences.  At  first  the  soli- 
tude of  her  new  home  was  almost  insupportable ; 
her  heart  was  desolate ;  and  not  until  her  con- 
science upbraided  her  for  resigning  her  children 
to  the  care  of  strangers  did  she  strive  to  arouse 
herself  from  her  deep  sorrow. 

One  day  Arthur  came  to  her,  and  said,  in  his 
sweet,  childish  way,  "  Come,  dear  mother  ;  Netty 
and  I  have  found  some  of  those  flowers  with 
bright  blue  blossoms,  which  father  loved  so  well, 
and  this  nice  boy  "  —  alluding  to  a  very  ragged 
little  urchin  by  his  side  —  "  has  been"  helping  me 
to  set  them  out ;  and  after  you  have  looked  at 
them,  I  am  going  with  him  to  assist  in  making  a 
garden,  where  he  can  have  some  flowers  too.  I 
thought  you  would  give  us  some  seeds,  and  by 
and  by  his  garden  will  look  as  well  as  ours." 

Mrs.  Burton  could  not  deny  the  request  of  her 
son,  and  she  was  agreeably  surprised  at  the  pains 


16  THE   CHEERFUL  HEART. 

he  had  taken  and  the  improvement  he  had  made 
in  order  to  gratify  her,  and  to  take  off  her  atten- 
tion from  the  grief  which  had  ■vrholly  absorbed 
her  thoughts.  "  Dear  mother,"  said  Arthur,  "  do 
not  look  so  sad  ;  you  must  remember  the  story 
which  you  read  to  Annette  and  me  one  day, 
which  said  that  there  was  '  a  silver  lining  to 
every  cloud.'  Father  is  an  angel  in  heaven  now ; 
and  if  he  knows  what  is  passing  here,  it  must 
make  him  miserable  to  see  you  unhappy.  Do 
try  to  be  cheerful.  I  try  ;  and  when  tempted  to 
weep  for  pa,  I  think  I  shall  one  day  go  to  him, 
and  be  with  him  forever  ;  and  that '  silver  lining ' 
comforts  me." 

These  artless  words  induced  Mrs.  Burton  to 
feel  that  she  had  been  very  selfish  in  her  grief ; 
and  giving  him  such  a  Igok  as  only  a  fond  moth- 
er can  give  to  the  child  of  her  love,  she  replied, 
"I  will  be  more  cheerful,  my  boy.  I  know  it  is 
wrong  to  thus  mourn  as  one  without  hone." 

From  this  time  she  began  to  improve  m  health 
and  spirits.    The  influence  of  the  sweet "  summer 


DAISY  VALLEY  AND   ITS  INHABITANTS.         17 

time  "  had  a  soothing  effect  upon  her  stricken 
heart.  She  could  not  be  insensible  to  the  love- 
liness of  the  spot  which  her  husband  had  chosen 
for  her  residence,  and  in  instructing  her  chil- 
dren and  assisting  them  in  their  out-door  pur- 
suits she  gained  strength  and  peace.  "With  her 
own  hands  she  planted  flowers,  trained  honey- 
suckles and  woodbine  over  the  doors  and  win- 
dows, and  by  thus  keeping  her  mind  constantly 
occupied,  she  found  but  little  time  to  dwell  upon 
her  sorrows.  In  her  rambles  in  the  fine  woods 
which  covered  the  gently-sloping  hills,  her  chil- 
dren always  accompanied  her,  and  it  was  a  de- 
light to  her  to  lead  their  youthful  minds  up  the 
hill  of  science.  Mrs.  Burton  had  read  much 
with  her  husband  ;  and  now  she  found  the  great 
value  and  advantage  of  such  a  course.  Arthur's 
constantly  inquiring  mind  obliged  her  to  keep" 
up  her  reading,  and  even  the  little  Annette  fre- 
quently asked  questions  which  required  thought 
and  research  to  answer. 

"Are  you  happy  now,  mamma  ?  "  said  Arthur  to 
2* 


18  THE  CHEERFUL  HEART. 

his  mother,  as,  with  a  smile  upon  her  lips,  she 
watched  the  gambols  of  a  pet  Maltese  cat,  which 
was  greatly  prized  by  Annette. 

"  Yes,  my  son,"  replied  the  mother,  "  thanks  to 
your  favorite  saying,  that  there  is  '  a  silver  lining 
to  every  cloud  : '  in  looking  for  it,  and  in  striv- 
ing to  perform  my  duties,  I  have  found  cheerful- 
ness and  content,  though  the  'loved  and  lost' 
can  never  be  forgotten.  My  life  was  once  a  very 
selfish  one." 

"  Dear  mother,  you  wrong  yourself ;  for  you 
always  made  father  happy,  as  he  said  before  he 
died." 

"  If  I  added  to  his  enjoyment,  Arthur,  I  do 
not  deserve  praise  for  it.  I  have  naturally  a 
cheerful  disposition ;  fortune  had  always  smiled 
upon  me  ;  and  it  was  no  effort  for  me  to  make 
myself  agreeable.  The  heart  can  only  be  proved 
by  privations  and  sorrows,  which  are  often  ne- 
cessary, and  wisely  sent  to  show  to  us  and  those 
around  us  what  we  are,  and  of  what  we  are  ca- 
pable.    The  loss  of  your  father  was  an  over- 


DAISY  VALLEY  AND   ITS  INHABITANTS.        19 

whelming  blow  to  me;  but  I  can  now  see  the 
mercy  even  of  that  bitter  trial." 

"  I  am  so  glad  you  have  found  the  *  silver 
lining/  mamma,"  said  Arthur  ;  "  and  Charley 
Afton's  mother  is  finding  it  too,  for  she  told  me 
this  afternoon  that  although  she  had  the  rheu- 
matism so  badly  in  her  feet  that  she  could  not 
walk,  yet  she  had  '  come  to  think '  that,  if  she  had 
lost  the  use  of  her  hands  too,  Charley  would  have  to 
go  without  stockings,  and  there  would  be  nobody 
to  mend  his  clothes  either.  '  And,'  said  she, '  Mr. 
Afton,  who  has  had  to  work  so  hard  all  his  days 
that  he  could  not  find  time  even  to  patch  up  the 
house,  since  I  have  told  him  what  you  said  about 
the  cloud,  begins  to  get  a  peep  at  its  silver  edge, 
and  says  that  by  hurrying  a  little  more,  instead 
of  stopping  to  talk  with  the  men  at  the  shop  about 
his  troubles,  he  can  get  time  to  do  many  things 
which  I  had  to  go  without  until  lately.  0,  that 
"  silver  lining  "  and  a  cheerful  heart  are  blessed 
things,  Arthur.' " 

"  Now,  mother,  I  want  you  to  go  and  see  Mrs. 


20  THE   CHEERFUL  HEART. 

Afton  with  me,  after  I  have  said  my  lessons  to- 
morrow.    Will  you  ?  " 

"I  should  be  glad  to  know  more  about  Char- 
ley's mother,  and  I  will  cheerfully  comply  with 
your  request." 

"  Thank  you,  mamma.  Mrs.  Afton  will  praise 
me  to  you  for  the  trifles  I  have  been  able  to  do 
for  her  and  Charley  ;  but  you  will  know  that  the 
poor  woman  has  not  been  accustomed  to  kind- 
ness, and  she  thinks  a  great  deal  of  a  small 
favor." 

"I  shall  appreciate  what  she  say?,  ray  child," 
replied  Mrs.  Burton,  as  with  a  tear  in  her  eye 
she  looked  at  her  noble  boy,  whose  modest  face 
was  suffused  with  blushes  by  this  allusion  to  his 
own  good  deeds.  At  the  same  time  that  moth- 
er breathed  a  prayer  that  she  might  not  love 
her  child  too  well,  and  forget  the  hand  which 
had  bestowed  him  upon  her. 

"Well  might  a  parent  be  proud  of  such  a  child. 
Lovely  from  his  birth,  thoughtful  beyond  his 
years,  seeming  to  comprehend  at  once  each  per- 


DAISY  VALLEY  AND  ITS  INHABITANTS.        21 

son's  troubles,  and  to  know  intuitively  just  how 
to  soothe,  and  exactly  what  was  best  adapted 
for  them  ;  forbearing  and  long  suflfering  for 
himself,  but  sensitive  as  the  eye  of  love  for  oth- 
ers ;  ever  ready  to  mourn  with  those  who 
mourned,  yet  urging  them  to  hope  on,  and  re- 
peating his  beloved  saying,  which,  with  his 
cheerful  tones,  seldom  failed  to  comfort  the  sor- 
rowing and  calm  the  wounded,  —  The  poor  wor- 
shipped him,  and  the  rich  hailed  his  coming. 
His  own  happy  feelings  and  bright  smiles  seemed 
to  be  reflected  from  the  countenances  of  those 
with  whom  he  associated,  and  difiicultles  which 
they  had  considered  insurmountable  vanished  at 
his  coming.  His  pleasant "  Let  us  try  "  generally 
removed  the  mountain,  "I  cannot,"  and  placed 
the  lever  at  the  right  spot,  so  that  the  obstacle 
was  soon  surmounted.  But  notwithstanding  this, 
he  was  so  modest,  so  unpretending,  and  thought 
so  little  of  his  own  good  acts,  that  the  favor  be- 
came doubly  precious  from  the  way  in  which  it 
was  conferred. 


22  THE  CHEERFUL  HEART. 

The  next  day,  as  she  had  promised,  Mrs.  Bur- 
ton called  upon  Mrs.  Afton,  who  very  gratefully 
expressed  her  thanks  for  the  favors  she  had  re- 
ceived from  Arthur.  Said  she,  "  I  was  the  most 
miserable  person  in  the  world  before  he  came  to 
see  me.  Unable  to  walk  a  single  step,  I  thought 
of  nothing  but  my  trials,  and  by  constantly 
dwelling  upon  them  I  made  them  much  greater 
than  they  really  were.  By  my  repinings  and 
complaints,  I  drove  my  husband  from  my  pres- 
ence ;  and  after  he  returned  home  from  a  hard 
day's  work,  instead  of  striving  to  make  him 
comfortable,  I  only  scolded  him  for  not  sympa- 
thizing more  with  me.  To  escape  this  he  fled  to 
the  alehouse,  and  although  once  a  very  temper- 
ate man,  he  soon  could  drink  as  much  as  the 
worst  drunkard  of  the  set.  Of  course,  this  add- 
ed to  my  misery  ;  and  what  was  more  bitter  than 
all  the  rest,  my  boy,  my  Charley,  was  influenced 
to  treat  me  with  disrespect.  My  cup  of  sorrow 
was  now  full,  for  he  had  always  been  a  good, 
affectionate  child  ;   but  instead  of  striving  to 


DAISY   VALLEY   AND   ITS   INHABITANTS.         23 

win  him  back  to  me,  I  only  by  reproaching  him, 
drove  him  still  farther  from  me.  This  cottage 
which  you  see,  madam,  is  so  delightfully  situ- 
ated, and  begins  now  to  look  like  old  times,  was 
going  to  ruin  for  the  want  of  a  little  care.  In 
place  of  glass  in  the  casements,  they  were  filled 
with  old  hats  and  rags.  The  garden,  once  in 
perfect  order,  had  run  to  waste,  and  instead  of 
flowers  nothing  but  weeds  and  rank  grass  grew 
there,  and  the  sweet  little  place  which  my  father 
left  me  could  never  have  been  recognized  in  the 
miserable  hovel  of  a  few  months  since.  But 
thanks  to  your  blessed  boy,  madam,  we  are 
saved,  and,  I  trust,  we  shall  never  return  to  the 
state  in  which  he  found  us.  It  was  a  beautiful 
pure  morning  that  I  first  saw  him  talking  with 
Charley.  0, 1  shall  never  forget  it."  And  the 
invalid  wiped  away  the  tears  which  were  stream- 
ing down  her  cheeks.  "  The  birds  were  singing 
so  sweetly  that  I  ought  to  have  listened  to  them 
with  pleasure  ;  for  once,  nothing  gave  me  more 
satisfaction ;  I  did  hear,  but  only  to  feel  that 


24  THE  CHEERFUL  HEART. 

every  thing  was  happier  than  myself.  Your  son 
stood  talking  with  Charley  for  a  long  time,  and 
then  I  heard  him  say,  *I  am  very  sorry  that 
your  mother  is  ill.  Will  she  see  me  ?  Perhaps 
we  can  do  something  for  her  comfort.  Shall  I 
go  in,  Charley?'  My  boy  knew  not  what  to 
answer,  as  he  was  ashamed  to  have  any  one  look 
upon  the  sight  which  had  caused  his  young  heart 
to  ache  so  much.  I  nodded  my  head  to  him, 
however,  to  bring  the  stranger  in.  I  was  proud, 
ma'am,  and  at  any  other  time,  under  such  cir- 
cumstances, would  na-^e  repulsed  even  a  friend 
from  the  door  ;  but  some  power,  which  I  could 
not  understand,  induced  me  to  admit  him ;  and 
before  I  was  aware  of  what  I  had  done,  Arthur 
entered.  I  saw  him  shudder  at  the  scene  before 
him,  but  the  tear  in  his  eye  told  me  that  he  sym- 
pathized with  my  sorrows.  Very  soon  that 
youth  began  to  exert  an  influence  over  my  stub- 
bom  will  which  he  still  retains,  and  I  often  ask 
myself.  What  has  changed  me  thus  ?  for,  before 
he  came,  I  was  almost  turned  to  stone  ;  or,  at 


DAISY  VALLEY  AND  ITS  INHABITANTS.        25 

least,  all  that  was  womanly  within  me  seemed 
to  be  gone,  and  to  have  left  nothing  but  a  hard, 
stern  being,  who  was  trying  to  forget  that  she 
had  once  possessed  feelings  in  common  with  her 
kind.  I  wept  as  I  listened  to  the  sweet  words 
which  proceeded  from  the  lips  of  your  child,  and 
when  he  said  to  me,  *  Dear  Mrs.  Afton,  "  there 
is  a  silver  lining  to  every  cloud  ; "  therefore  do 
not  despair,'  I  knew  that  the  Almighty  had 
sent  me  a  comforter,  and  I  resolved  to  receive 
him,  and  from  that  time,  whenever  tempted  to 
despond,  that  saying  cam^e  to  my  mind,  and  the 
load  was  removed,  and  I  could  see  blessings  in 
my  lot  of  which  many  are  deprived. 

"  But  I  did  not  tell  you  the  sight  which  was 
before  your  son  as  he  entered.  On  the  floor, 
stretched  in  the  deathlike  sleep  which  follows 
intoxication,  lay  my  husband.  By  his  side  stood 
a  jug,  which  contained  the  cause  of  all  this 
agony.  About  the  room  were  flung  remnants 
of  articles  which  he  had  broken  in  his  frenzy. 
The  hearthstone  was  cold,  and  the  wife  and 
3 


26  THE  CHEERFUL  HEART. 

mother,  as  I  told  you  before,  sat  helplessly  and 
hopelessly  looking  upon  what  was  rapidly 
changing  her  from  a  woman  into  a  fiend. 

"To  think,  madam,  0,  that  was  what  I  dread- 
ed I  Master  Arthur  saved  me  from  despair  ;  and 
not  satisfied  with  bestowing  his  heartfelt  sympa- 
thy upon  me,  he  led  my  child  from  the  evil  of 
his  ways ;  for  being  unjustly  punished  by  big 
father,  (when  he  had  been  drinking,  for  he  was 
always  kind  when  sober,)  and  repulsed  and  scold- 
ed at  by  his  mother,  he  had  fled  from  his  home 
for  companions,  and  was  fast  learning  the  arts  and 
evil  ways  of  a  vagrant.  But  Arthur  encouraged 
him,  gave  him  clothes,  (and  with  decent  clothing 
liis  self-respect  returned.)  induced  him  to  go  to 
school,  assisted  him  in  his  lessons,  commended 
liis  love  of  flowers,  gave  him  seeds,  and  told  him 
liow  to  plant  them.  But  this  is  not  all,  my  dear 
Mrs.  Burton.  Not  content  with  saving  the  moth- 
er and  child,  he  sought  out  the  place  where  Mr. 
Afton  worked,  in  his  own  kind  way  entered  into 
conversation  with  him,  asked  him  with  regard  to 


DAISY  VALLEY  AND   ITS  INHABITANTS.         27 

the  machinery  which  he  was  assisting  to  con- 
struct, listened  with  attention  and  interest  to  my 
husband's  explanations,  and  thus  won  his  heart ; 
for  Mr.  Afton  is  an  excellent  workman,  loves  hi? 
business,  and  is  fully  competent  to  explain  every 
part  of  it,  when  not  under  the  influence  of  his 
worst  enemy.  Your  son  would  appoint  a  time 
when  he  would  again  visit  him,  and  this  induced 
my  husband  to  remain  sober,  so  as  to  be  pre- 
pared to  answer  his  questions ;  and  his  being  so 
much  noticed  by  an  intelligent  youth  caused  his 
self-respect  to  return,  and  he  gradually  left  going 
to  the  tavern,  and  forsook  the  acquaintances 
which  he  had  formed  there.  His  health  and 
strength,  which  had  been  failing,  have  returned 
to  him ;  and  with  them  his  natural  energy  of 
character.  He  now  accomplishes  in  much  less 
time  what  is  expected  of  him,  so  that  he  has 
considerable  leisure,  and  this  ho  devotes  to  re- 
pairing the  house,  and  cultivating  the  garden  ; 
and  you  see,  madam,  how  well  he  and  Charley 
have  made  it  look.     He  is  always  kind  to  me 


28  THE   CHEERFUL  HEART. 

now,  and  I  strive  to  meet  him  with  a  cheerful 
look  when  he  returns  from  work.  This  is  not 
hard  for  me,  for  I  am  happy,  and  cannot  bless 
God  enough  for  sending  your  son  to  this  valley." 

"  Do  you  suffer  much  pain  from  your  limbs  ?  " 
said  Mrs.  Burton. 

"  Sometimes,  ma'am,  but  I  know  it  is  all  right ; 
and  I  always  see  the  '  silver  lining '  now,  let  my 
poor  feet  ache  ever  so  badly.  A  few  weeks  ago, 
Master  Arthur  was  asking  my  husband  if  a  chair 
could  not  be  constructed  by  which  I  could  be 
placed  in  different  positions,  and  thus  be  relieved. 
He  said  that  he  had  heard  his  father  speak  of 
something  of  the  kind,  and  that  I  ought  to  have 
one.  Mr.  Afton  replied,  that  he  wished  '  his 
poor  Mary,'  could  be  made  easier.  Nothing  fur- 
ther was  said  upon  the  matter,  and  I  should 
have  thought  no  more  about  it,  only  to  remember 
with  pleasure  the  affectionate  wish  uttered  in  his 
old  tones  by  ray  husband.  A  fortnight  ago,  how- 
ever, Arthur's  bright  face,  which  always  brings 
happiness  with  it,  peeped  into  the  door,  and  he 
said, — 


DAISY  VALLEY  AND   ITS  INHABITANTS.        29 

"  '  Don't  you  wish  to  take  a  short  ride  on  your 
birthday,  Mrs.  Afton  ?  ' 

"  I  could  not  imagine  what  he  meant,  but 
something  good  I  was  quite  sure ;  so  I  replied, 
as  he  seemed  to  expect  an  answer,  — 

"  *  Yes,  my  dear  boy,  if  I  could  only  get  into 
a  carriage ;  but  that  I  have  not  done  for  so  many 
years  that  I  should  quite  forget  how  to  be- 
have.' 

"  *  We  shall  see  about  that,'  said  he,  and  away 
he  ran,  his  face  beaming  with  joy. 

"  In  a  few  hours  after,  in  came  Mr.  Afton,  Ar- 
thur, and  Charley,  bringing  this  nice  chair,  which, 
as  you  see,  ma'am,  is  so  comfortably  stuffed ;  and 
it  can  be  raised  or  lowered  as  I  please  ;  it  is  on 
castors,  and  I  can  push  myself  all  over  the  house. 
It  has  been  a  great  comfort  to  me,  and  even  the 
exercise  of  moving  from  room  to  room  has  im- 
proved my  health. 

" '  Here  is  your  carriage,  Mary,'  said  Mr.  Af- 
ton ;  *  and  now  you  will  be  a  little  more  com- 
fortable, and  by  and  by,  when  wo  can  push  you 
3* 


30  THE    CHEERFUL   HEART. 

about  the  garden,  and  let  you  smell  of  Charley's 
flowers,  you  will  be  better,  I  am  sure.' 

"  '  0,  what  a  comfort ! '  I  replied.  '  But,  my 
dear  John,  I  fear  you  have  been  obliged  to  run 
in  debt  to  get  it  for  me.' 

*' '  No,  no,'  Jie  said.  '  It  is  Arthur's  present ; 
and  to  him  your  thanks  are  due.  It  is  all  paid 
for,  I  assure  you,  and  is  that  dear  boy's  birthday 
present  to  my  wife.' 

"  '  0  Mr.  Afton,'  said  Arthur,  *  pray  do  not 
say  so.  It  is  your  husband's  gift,  my  dear  mad- 
am, and  he  has  taken  the  greatest  pains  to  pro- 
cure it  for  you  from  the  city,  where  he  has  been 
for  several  days  to  assist  in  its  construction.' 

"  *  Mary,'  said  my  husband, '  it  is  Arthur's  pres- 
ent, for  by  his  efforts  I  was  rescued  from  a  drunk- 
ard's grave,  and  the  money  which  I  paid  for  the 
chair,  but  for  him,  would  have  been  worse  than 
wasted  at  the  tavern  ;  and  more  than  this,  I  could 
not  save  enough  by  several  dollars  to  pay  for  it ; 
the  deficiency  he  chose  to  make  up-  out  of  his 
own  pocket ;  and  when  I  objected  to  borrowing 


DAISY  VALLEY  AND   ITS  INHABITANTS.        31 

it,  lest  it  should  not  be  agreeable  to  his  mother, 
he  did  away  with  all  my  scruples,  by  saying  that 
she  always  permitted  him  to  do  with  his  pocket 
money  as  he  pleased. 

"  *  So  you  see,  Mary,  that  I  was  right,  and  it 
is  really  Arthur's  present.' 

"  0  madam,"  said  Mrs.  Afton,  "  God  has  in- 
deed bestowed  upon  you  a  treasure,  and  long 
may  he  be  spared." 

Mrs.  Burton  mingled  blissful  tears  with  those 
shed  by  Mrs.  Afton,  and  as  she  arose  to  de- 
part, she  assured  the  invalid  that  she  highly 
approved  of  all  that  her  son  had  been  able 
to  do  for  her.  She  also  expressed  a  wish  to 
have  Charley  pass  two  evenings  in  the  week 
with  her  son,  as  it  might  be  an  advantage  to 
him  to  study  with  them.  Mrs.  Afton,  with  many 
thanks,  assented  to  this  proposal,  and  from  that 
time  until  other  arrangements  were  made,  which 
were  more  for  Charley's  interest,  these  meetings 
were  kept  up. 

As  Mrs.  Burton  walked  home  with  her  son, 


32  THE   CHEERFUL  HEART. 

slie  could  not  avoid  lifting  her  heart  in  thank- 
fulness to  the  Giver  of  all  good,  for  such  a 
child,  to  be,  as  she  hoped,  a  prop  for  her  de- 
clining years. 

As  soon  as  Arthur  heard  Mrs.  Afton  commence 
talking  to  his  mother  about  him,  he  had  left 
the  room,  gently  shaking  his  head  for  her  to 
desist.  This  she  understood,  but  she  felt  that 
she  must  pour  out  her  full  heart  to  one  who  bet- 
ter than  any  other  could  appreciate  his  excel- 
lence. Mrs.  Burton  desired  to  say  much  expres- 
sive of  her  approbation  of  Arthur's  conduct,  but 
she  did  not  consider  it  judicious  to  give  utter- 
ance to  but  a  few  words,  but  those  were  under- 
stood and  garnered  up  by  her  child,  who  so  well 
comprehended  this  best  of  earthly  friends. 

"  Dear  mother,  do  you  not  think  Mrs.  Afton 
uses  language  superior  to  what  we  generally 
hear  from  persons  in  her  situation  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  I  remarked  that  repeatedly  this  af- 
ternoon. She  must  have  had  advantages  in 
early  life,  for  not  only  her  expressions,  but  her 


DAISY  VALLEY  AND   ITS   INHABITANTS.         33 

manners,  are  superior  to   those  of  many  with 
whom  we  meet." 

"  I  have  always  thought  so,  mother  ;  and  one 
day  I  made  a  remark  to  Mr.  Afton,  which  in- 
duced him  to  give  me  some  account  of  her  early 
history.  It  seems  that  her  father  was  not  a  na- 
tive of  this  country,  but  was  the  only  son  of 
parents  who  during  their  prosperity  had  given 
him  a  superior  education.  Owing  to  reverses 
they  became  poor,  and  after  their  death  he  came 
to  this  country  to  seek  his  fortune.  He  was  for 
a  long  time  principal  in  an  academy,  with  a  good 
salary.  He  married,  and  purchased  the  house 
and  laud  attached  to  it  where  Mrs.  Afton  lives. 
She  was  his  only  child,  and  he  took  great  de- 
light in  instructing  her.  His  wife  died  when 
his  daughter  was  a  little  girl,  and  she  and  her 
father  remained  in  the  valley  until  she  was 
grown  up.  As  he  grew  old,  he  gave  up  teaching, 
and  devoted  himself  to  the  culture  of  flowers, 
of  which  he  was  extremely  fond  ;  and  when  he 
died,"  said  Mr.  Afton,  "  he  left  the  finest  garden 


34  THE   CHEERFUL  HEART. 

any  where  about.  It  was  his  pleasure  and  his 
pride ;  but  when  it  fell  into  my  hands,  it  soon, 
through  neglect,  lost  its  beauty,  and  poor  Mary 
being  unable  to  walk,  —  for  a  dreadful  rheumatic 
fever  which  she  had  soon  after  her  father's  de- 
cease, depriyed  her  of  the  use  of  her  limbs, — 
of  course  she  could  not  take  care  of  it.  But  I 
am  determined  it  never  shall  look  so  again.  In- 
deed, Master  Arthur,  you  have  no  idea  of  the 
delight  I  take  in  its  cultivation.  I  always  loved 
flowers,  and  each  blossom  as  it  bursts  forth  seems 
to  look  upon  me  as  if  it  thanked  me  for  my  care. 
I  often  think  flowers  have  a  language,  and  it  is 
very  certain  that  they  speak  to  my  heart  in  a 
way  to  make  it  better." 

"  0  mother,"  said  Arthur,  "  you  cannot  tell 
how  much  joy  it  afi'ords  me  to  see  Mr.  Afton  and 
his  family  so  happy.  I  do  wish,  however,  that 
something  more  could  be  done  to  relieve  Mrs. 
Afton.  Do  you  not  think  Dr.  Lawrence  could 
help  her?" 

"  I  was  thinking  of  that,"  said  Mrs.  Burton, 


DAISY  VALLEY  AND  ITS  INHABITANTS.        35 

"but  you  have  anticipated  me.  You  shall  go 
to-morrow  and  see  the  doctor,  and  ask  him 
to  call  upon  her  ;  perhaps  he  will  return  with 
you,  and  then  you  will  hear  his  opinion  of  her 
case." 

"  0,  how  much  I  hope  he  can  benefit  her,  moth- 
er I  it  will  be  so  delightful  for  her  to  get  about 
again."  And  that  cheerful,  loving  boy  in  imagi- 
nation saw  the  invalid  walking,  and  rejoicing 
in  the  use  of  her  limbs,  of  which  she  had  been 
so  long  deprived. 

"  Always  hopeful,  my  child,"  said  Mrs.  Burton. 
"  I  trust  your  wishes  will  be  realized ;  but  you 
must  not  be  too  sanguine,  as  Mrs.  Afton's  lame- 
ness has  continued  so  long." 

"But,  mother,  nothing  has  been  done  for 
her,  you  know,  and  she  has  consulted  no  physi- 
cian. I  am  almost  sure  Dr.  Lawrence  will  cure 
her." 

Arthur  was  so  full  of  his  desire  to  benefit  Mrs. 
Afton,  that  he  arose  before  the  sun,  and  was  on 
his  way  ere  Mrs.  Burton  had  left  her  chamber. 


36  THE  CHEEEFUL  HEART. 

It  was  a  lovely  morning  that  he  set  out  on  his 
benevolent  errand ;  the  sweet  breath  of  early 
summer  blew  upon  him,  the  flowerets,  nursed  by 
the  pearly  dews,  seemed  to  him  more  beautiful 
than  usual.  "  And  surely,"  whispered  the  boy  to 
himself,  "  the  music  of  the  birds  never  sounded 
so  sweetly ; "  and  when  the  sun  arose  from  behind 
the  hills,  &nd  shone  forth  in  all  his  glory,  Arthur 
paused,  and  looked  at  it  for  several  moments,  de- 
termining in  his  own  mind  never  again  to  lie  in 
bed  when  there  was  such  exquisite  enjoyment  to 
be  derived  from  the  beauties  of  the  early  morn- 
ing. Fortunately  the  doctor  was  at  home  ;  but 
if  Arthur  had  lingered  longer  by  the  way,  ho 
would  have  been  absent.  He  opened  the  door 
himself  in  answer  to  Arthur's  ring,  all  prepared 
to  set  off  on  his  daily  round  of  visits. 

"  Good  morning.  Cheerful  Heart,"  said  he, 
(for  thus  he  generally  called  Arthur  ; )  "  nobody 
sick  at  home,  I  trust.  No  ?  Well,  I  am  rejoiced 
to  hear  that,  at  any  rate :  but  come  in  ;  I  can 
spare  you  ten  minutes,  though  I  was  in  a  great 


DAISY  VALLEY  AND   ITS   INHABITANTS.         37 

hurry.  What  has  given  me  the  honor  of  a 
visit  so  early  in  the  morning  ? " 

The  doctor  was  well  acquainted  with  Arthur's 
favorite  saying,  and  lived  up  to  it,  for  the  sun 
never  shone  upon  a  more  cheerful,  benevolent 
being  than  himself.  He  was  possessed  of  a 
large  property,  and  could  have  given  up  his 
profession,  but  his  friends  were  so  much  attached 
to  him  that  they  would  not  hear  of  having  any 
body  else,  stoutly  asserting  that  they  should  die 
in  any  other  hands ;  and  his  cheerful  manner  and 
kindly  sympathy  certainly  did  much  towards 
their  recovery,  aside  from  his  well-known  skill. 
He  was  a  physician  truly  for  the  "mind  dis- 
eased" as  well  as  the  body.  He  pointed  the 
way  to  that  land  where  sickness  and  sorrow 
are  unknown,  and  where  all  tears  are  wiped 
away. 

After  listening  *o  Arthur's  relation  of  Mrs. 

Atfon's  case,  and  of  some  particulars  of  what 

her  situation  had  been,  the  good  doctor  said, 

"Well,  Cheerful  Heart,  I  have  known  cases  as 

4 


38  THE   CHEERFUL  HEART. 

bad  as  hers,  and  I  think  something  may  be  done 
for  her  ;  I  cannot  say,  however,  until  I  see  her  ; 
but  I  have  given  you  half  an  hour  instead  of  ten 
minutes,  as  I  promised ;  therefore  I  must  run  off; 
H^  but  tell  your  mother  that  I  will  be  over  this 
afternoon.  So,  good  morning,  my  boy."  And 
away  went  the  doctor  on  his  benevolent  errands. 
Arthur  hastened  home,  rejoiced  to  learn  that  the 
doctor  thought  Mrs.  Afton  might  be  relieved. 

"  Where  is  Dr.  Lawrence,  my  dear  ?  "  said 
Mrs.  Burton.  "  I  hoped  he  would  return  with 
you." 

"  He  will  be  here  presently,  mother ;  he  is 
to  call  for  me  to  go  to  Mrs.  Afton's  with  him. 
He  would  have  come  this  morning,  but  his  busi- 
ness will  detain  him  until  afternoon." 

"  Ever  in  the  way  of  his  duty,"  replied  Mrs. 
Burton.  "Your  father  said  to  him,  when  he 
was  talking  about  giving  up  his  profession,  that 
he  believed  he  ought  to  continue  to  practise 
particularly  among  the  poor,  who  have  always 
found  him  a  fast  friend.    I  have  no  doubt  that 


DAISY  VALLEY  AND  ITS  INHABITANTS.        39 

he  lias  assisted  thousands.  I  trust  his  life  will 
be  spared  many  years,  for  I  know  of  no  one  that 
could  fill  his  place.  I  once  heard  him  say,  *  The 
poor  are  my  children,  for  they  have  but  few 
friends.' 

"  After  your  father's  death,  Dr.  Lawrence 
seemed  nearer  than  any  one  else  to  me,  for  his 
sympathy  was  so  heartfelt,  and  he  manifested  it 
in  so  delicate  a  manner,  that  I  can  never  for- 
get it ;  and,  besides,  he  had  known  and  loved 
him  from  a  boy,  and  could,  therefore,  appreciate 
his  character  better  than  the  other  persons 
around  me." 

At  the  time  promised  the  doctor  made  his  ap- 
pearance at  the  cottage,  and  he  and  Arthur  went 
to  see  Mrs.  Afton,  who,  although  the  call  was 
entirely  unexpected,  received  him  with  so  much 
propriety  and  native  politeness  that  he  was 
agreeably  surprised,  and  found  no  difficulty  in. 
making  her  understand  his  wishes  with  regard 
to  the  course  for  her  to  pursue  in  order  to  im- 
prove her  situation.    After  making  quite  a  long 


40  THE  CHEERFUL  HEART. 

call,  he  said  to  lier  at  parting,  "  Madam,  I  feel 
confident  that  you  will  obtain  the  use  of  your 
feet,  although  it  may  be  some  time  before  this 
is  brought  about ;  you  will  probably  never  be 
quite  well,  but  you  will,  I  think,  enjoy  a  com- 
fortable share  of  health." 

"  O  doctor,"  said  the  poor  woman,  "  thanks  to 
this  dear  boy  and  his  mother,  under  Heaven,  my 
cup  is  already  running  over.  I  cannot  find 
words  to  express  my  feelings.  I  had  become 
resigned  to  my  lot,  never  expecting  to  be  any 
better,  and  feeling  thankful  for  the  comforts 
which  I  enjoyed ;  but  you  have,  by  bidding  me 
tope,  made  me  the  happiest  woman  in  existence. 
If  the  prayers  of  a  grateful  heart  can  benefit 
you,  mine  shall  ever  be  offered  in  your  behalf." 

*'  You  give  me  a  large  fee,"  said  the  doctor, 
"  far  more  than  my  services  deserve  ;  but  I  will 
confess  that  they  are  a  kind  of  treasure  of  which 
I  am  desirous  of  laying  up  a  store  ; "  and  with  a 
tear  in  his  eye,  which  he  hastily  wiped  away,  the 
doctor  returned  home.    I  will  here  mention  that 


DAISY  VALLEY  AND  ITS  INHABITANTS.        41 

Mrs.  Afton  did  recover  the  use  of  lier  limbs,  and 
was  able,  with  Charley's  assistance,  to  visit  her 
kind  friend,  Mrs.  Burton,  and  a  proud  and 
happy  boy  was  he  as  they  walked  together,  to 
point  out  to  his  mother  the  improvements  made 
in  the  valley,  by  the  efforts  and  advice  of  his 
friend  Arthur. 


42  THE  CHEERFUL ''HEART. 


CHAPTER    II. 

DEATH  IN  THE  VALLEY. 

"  Flowers,  bright  flowers  ?    Wliy  do  ye  bring 

Those  lovely  things  to  me  ? 
Think  ye  they  soothe  my  saddened  heart, 

That's  bursting  to  be  free  ? 
No,  no,  —  take  back  the  fading  things, 
Nor  think  to  mend  the  broken  strings 
Of  my  lone  heart,  by  bringing  flowers 
That  perish  with  the  passing  hours." 

The  summer  and  fall  of  18 —  had  been  very 
lovely.  Never  did  the  trees  and  gardens  in  tlie 
Valley  of  Daisies  present  a  finer  appearance, 
or  put  forth  their  beauties  more  luxuriantly. 
Winter  with  his  icy  fingers  had  not  as  yet 
approached  the  happy  valley,  and  many  of  its 
inhabitants,  particularly  the  children,  began  to 
think  that  he  had  forgotten  to  come  near  th^m, 
and  that  the  warm,  smoky  days  would  continue 


DEATH  IN  THE  VALLEY.  43 

until  spring.  Some  of  the  older  inhabitants 
shook  their  wise  heads,  and  prophesied  "  either 
a  severe  winter,  by  and  by,  or  sickness  which 
would  sadden  the  hearts  of  those  who  now 
rejoiced  in  the  (as  they  expressed  it)  unseason- 
able weather." 

"We  do  not  like  this  shaking  of  heads  general- 
ly, for  it  looks  like  doubting  the  goodness  of 
God,  who  always  does  exactly  what  is  best  for 
his  creatures ;  and  although  it  may  seem  myste- 
rious to  us,  yet  he  doeth  all  things  well.  Sick- 
ness did  come,  and  many  hearts  received  wounds 
which  it  took  months  and  years  to  heal  ;  but 
they  were  healed  at  length,  and  many,  who  knelt 
over  their  dead  ere  the  bodies  were  consigned 
to  the  earth,  were  enabled  to  breathe  prayers 
that  were  not  "all  complaints." 

In  a  neat  cottage,  at  the  foot  of  one  of  the 
hills  which  shut  in  the  valley,  lived  a  woman 
who  was  a  widow,  with  one  daughter,  who  was 
as  good  and  as  lovely  a  child  as  mother  could 
desire.    Mrs.  Lawton  —  for  this  was  that  moth- 


44:  THE   CHEERFUL  HEAET. 

er's  name  —  was  a  favorite  with  both  Arthur 
and  Mrs.  Burton,  and  even  little  Annette  always 
begged  to  go  when  they  made  a  call  upon  her. 
There  was  "such  a  congeniality  of  feeling  be- 
tween her  and  Arthur  that  it  is  not  to  be  won- 
dered at  that  his  visits  to  the  widow  were 
frequent,  and  that  he  generally  made  a  long 
call. 

Lucy  Lawton  was  one  of  those  favored  per- 
sons "  whose  wealth  of  hope  seemed  inexhausti- 
ble." Her  father  had  once  been  wealthy,  but 
had  lost  all  his  property  by  becoming  surety 
for  a  friend,  who  deeply  wronged  him.  Lucy 
at  that  time  received  a  lesson  from  her  mother 
which  she  never  forgot ;  for  she  had,  both  by 
precept  and  example,  carried  out  what  she  in- 
culcated ;  therefore  the  child  early  learned  to 
thank  God  for  the  mercies  still  enjoyed.  It  was 
by  such  instructions,  always  given  in  a  cheerful 
manner,  that  Lucy's  mind  was  developed ;  and 
when  she  was  married  to  a  young  man  worthy 
of  her,  she  possessed  those  qualities  which  not 


DEATH  IN  THE  VALLET.  45 

only  gain,  but  secure,  the  esteem  of  a  husband, 
which  is  far  better.  Mr.  Lawton  was  not  rich, 
but  he  received  a  sufficient  salary  to  begin  life 
in  a  manner  which  would  insure  to  himself  and 
wife  many  comforts  and  conveniences.  Under 
such  favorably  auspices  the  young  couple  com- 
menced housekeeping,  and  for  two  years  were 
happy.  At  this  time  Mr.  Lawton  was  taken 
ill  of  a  fever  of  which  he  died,  and  the  young 
widow  was  left  with  her  child  to  make  her  way 
in  the  world  by  her  own  exertions.  Mrs.  Law- 
ton  deeply  mourned  her  husband's  death,  for  she 
had  loved  him  with  all  the  wealth  of  a  true 
woman's  affection.  She  felt,  however,  that  she 
must  not  selfishly  give  way  to  her  affliction, 
severe  as  it  was.  She  also  realized  that  her 
child  was  dependent  upon  her  for  support.  The 
dignity  and  decision  of  her  character  were  now 
manifested,  and  her  energies  exerted  to  the 
utmost.  She  hoped,  and  as  Hume  says,  this 
was  worth  ten  thousand  a  year  to  her  ;  and 
certain  it  is,  that  many  possessed  of  that  sum 


i>' 


46  THE  CHEERFUL  HEART. 

are  not  so  happy  as  Mrs.  Lawton  became  in  the 
pursuit  of  her  duty  and  in  fulfilling  it.  She  was 
an  excellent  seamstress,  and  soon  procured  work 
enough  to  afford  a  good  living  for  herself  and 
child.  The  little  Emily  was  sent  to  school,  and 
was  taught  of  how  much  importance  it  was  to 
improve  her  advantages.  There  were  moments 
when  Lucy  Lawton  felt  as  if  every  bright  vision 
of  the  future,  which  had  always  been  connected 
with  her  husband,  had  vanished  ;  but  she  soon  re- 
newed her  resolution  to  be  resigned,  and  looked 
forward  to  the  future  of  her  daughter  ;  and  as 
"it  requires  but  few  threads  of  hope  for  the 
heart  that  is  skilled  in  the  secret  to  weave  a 
web  of  happiness,"  Lucy  became  happy  in  weav- 
ing those  threads  around  her  cherished  child. 
One  sorrow  she  could  not  always  overcome, 
and  that  was  the  knowledge  of  .her  failing 
health,  and  the  thought  of  what  would  become 
of  Emily  if  she  should  be  taken  away.  This, 
however,  led  her  to  cast  her  cares  upon  Him 
who  is  a  Father  to  the  fatherless,  and  in  thus 


DEATH  IN  THE  VALLEY.  47 

doing,  all  clouds  were  removed  from  her  mind 
and  hope  again  shone  forth  triumphant. 

After  a  few  years,  Mrs.  Lawton  had  accumu- 
lated sufficient  money  to  purchase  a  little  cot- 
tage in  the  Valley  of  Daisies,  where  she  had 
removed,  soon  after  Mrs.  Burton  had  come  there 
to  reside.  Under  the  genial,  health-giving  breezes 
of  the  valley,  her  health  and  that  of  her  daugh- 
ter, which  had  of  late  been  rather  feeble,  began 
to  improve ;  and  the  mother  rejoiced  in  this 
favorable  change  more  on  hor  child's  account 
than  on  her  own.  With  returning  strength  the 
little  Emily  became  as  gay  as  a  bird,  seeming 
to  have  inherited  much  of  her  mother's  hope- 
ful spirit.  After  Mrs.  Burton's  removal  to  the 
valley,  Several  families  from  the  city  had  built 
houses  there,  and  occupied  them  in  the  summer 
season.  This  .was  very  pleasant  for  her  and- 
Arthur,  as  they  thus  became  acquainted  with 
persons  whose  educations  better  fitted  them  for 
companions  than  many  of  the  previous  inhabit- 
ants of  the  valley.    This  was  also  an  ady^tege 


48  THE  CHEERFUL  HEART. 

to  Mrs.  Lawton,  as  she  thus  procured  considera- 
ble needlework  without  going  to  the  city  to 
obtain  it.  One  of  these  families,  consisting  of 
a  gentleman  and  lady  with  three  children,  Mrs. 
Burton  had  become  intimately  acquainted  with. 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Thornton  had  been  prospered,  and 
for  many  years  had  not  known  sorrow.  Their 
children  were  lovely  and  amiable,  and  their  sky 
appeared  to  be  without  a  single  cloud.  Their 
prosperity,  however,  did  not  cause  them  to  be- 
come arrogant,  and  the  children  were  taught 
to  treat  all  with  kindness,  but  particularly  the 
humble  and  the  unfortunate.  On  this  account 
Mrs.  Burton  and  Arthur  found  them  very  effi- 
cient assistants  in  ameliorating  the  condition 
of  many  of  the  cottagers,  who  but  for  their 
united  influence  would  have  remained  in  the 
degraded  state  in  which  they  were  when  they 
first  removed  tp  the  valley. 

One  day,  as  Mrs.  Thornton  and  Mrs.  Bur- 
ton were  making  some  calls,  at  Arthur's  re- 
quest they  went  to  see  Mrs.  Lawton.    The  air 


w^m^ 


DEATH  IN  THE  VALLEY.  49 

of  taste  in  the  cottage  gratified  them  very 
much,  and  they  were  as  well  pleased  with  its 
mistress  as  with  her  house  and  garden ;  and 
when  Emily  Lawton  entered  with  her  hands 
filled  with  flowers,  her  sweet  face  sufi'used  with 
a  modest  blush,  both  ladies  thought  they  had 
never  seen  a  lovelier  creaturdi|  and  when  about 
to  take  her  leave,  Mrs.  Thornton  felt  such  an 
interest  in  the  child  that  she  requested  her 
mother  to  allow  her  to  come  as  often  as  sho 
cou^.  spare  her,  and  play  with  her  daughter 
Sophia,  who  was  of  nearly  the  same  age. 
•*■  "  Arthur  tells  me,  also,  Mrs.  Lawton,  that  you 
sometimes  do  fine  needlework ;  and  as  my  eyes 
are  not  strong,  I  am  prevented  from  attending 
to  any  thing  of  the  kind,  and  should  be  glad  to 
engage  you  to  do  all  mine.  I  never  wish  you 
to  hurry,  as  I  can  arrange  my  plans  so  that  you 
will  not  be  obliged  to  weary  yourself." 

The  considerate  manner  in  which  this  was 

said  touched  Mrs.  Lawton's  heart,  and  caused 

her  to  have  a  deep  sense  of  the  goodness  of  her 

^JV-  5 


50  THE   CmiEEFUL   HEAET. 

Father  in  heaven,  who  had  thus  influenced  the 
sympathies  of  people  in  her  behalf.  The  inter- 
est expressed  for  her  beloved  Emily  also  led 
her  to  reproach  herself  for  the  vrant  of  faith 
which  she  had  sometimes  felt  when  dwelling 
upon  the  future  for  this  cherished  object.  "  Just 
as  Arthur  sai(y||  thought  the  good  woman  to 
herself,  — "  '  a  silver  lining  to  every  cloud,'  if 
we  will  only  look  for  it.  Bless  the  dear  boy, 
^he  is  always  right,  and  to  him  I  owe  this 
supply  of  work,  just  when  I  was  beginni^ig  to 
despond."  With  many  thanks  she  accepted 
the  offer,  and  promised  that  little  Emily  should 
make  a  visit  on  Sophia  Thornton  the  next 
holiday.  After  the  ladies  left,  Mrs.  Lawton 
could-  not  avoid  wishing  that  her  husband,  who 
had  so  idolized  their  child,  could  have  lived  to 
share  with  her  the  pleasure  of  knowing  that  she 
was  noticed  and  cared  for  by  those  whose  influ- 
ence upon  her  would  be  such  as  he  would  have 
approved.  It  is  so  hard  to  rejoice  when  those 
who  would  have  joyed  with  us  have  passed  from 
earth. 


e 


DEATH   IN   THIJ^ALLEY.  51 

"I  will  not  repine,"  said  she;  "I  know  this 
m  wrong,  and  perhaps  my  husband's  spirit  is 
now  looking  down  from  his  heavenly  home,  and, 
although  I  know  it  not,  is  rejoicing  in  my  happi- 
ness. O,  how  much  I  have  to  be  thankful  for! 
and  I  trust  I  am  truly  grateful  to  Him  from 
wliom  all  blessings  flow."        ^^^ 

She  wiped  away  a  tear,  but  it  was  not  a  bitter 
one,  and  the  thoughts  of  the  hour  produced  a 
salutary  effect  upon  the  warm  heart  and  hopeful^  " 
spirit  of  the  lone  widow. 

No  wonder  those  ladies  were  attracted  by 
the  appearance  of  that  lovely  child,  beautiful  in 
person  as  well  as  mind.  No  wonder  that  in  her 
that  mother  had  garnered  up  her  heart.  Emily 
Lawton  was  one  of  those  children  whose  mission 
on  earth  seems  to  be  to  create  a  world  of  love 
around  them.  She  had  that  deep,  holy  light  in 
her  soft  blue  eyes  which  savored  of  heaven  and 
of  communings  with  angel  messengers.  Often, 
as  Arthur  listened  to  her  remarks,  as  she  accom- 
panied him  on  some   en-and  of  mercy,  he  was 


52  THE  CHpiRFUL  HEART. 

surprised  at  the  depth  of  the  thoughts  which 
she  expressed,  so  much  wiser  than  those  of  t||| 
children  whom  he  was  in  the  habit  of  meeting ; 
and  he  said  one  day, to  his  mother  that  she  was 
so  lovely  he  feared  she  would  not  live  to 
grow  up. 

"  I  often  thirJMear  mother,  that  she  is  early 
ripening  for  heaven,  and  that  poor  Mrs.  Lawton 
will  be  bereft  of  her  last  tie  here.  I  drive  away 
the  thought,  but  it  will  return." 

"My  dear  boy,"  said  Mrs.  Burton,  "I  trust 
your  fears  will  not  be  realized,  and  that  Emily 
will  long  be  spared  to  glad  her  widowed  moth- 
er's heart." 

"  0,  so  do  I,  mother ;  for  what  would  Mrs. 
Lawton  do  ?  She  is  a  Christian,  I  have  no 
doubt,  and  is  always  cheerful  ;  but  I  fear 
such  a  shock  would  be  more  than  she  could 
bear." 

"  "We  will  hope  for  the  best,  my  son,"  replied 
Mrs.  Burton.  "  It  may  be  that  your  fears  arise 
from  having  heard  that  oft-repeated  saying,  that 


DEATH  IN  TH^^^ALLEY.  53 

'  such  lovely  children  generally  die  young ; '  now, 
(ps  is  not  always  the  case,  and  Emily  may  be 
an  exception." 

Months  passed  on,  and  Arthur  was  still  active 
in  his  efforts  to  promote  the  happiness  and  com- 
fort of  the  people  in  the  valley.  Emily  was 
delighted  to  accompany  himt|||^his  visits,  and 
she  now  appeared  so  happy  and  so  healthy 
that  his  fears  on  her  account  began  to  abate. 
Yet  the  ethereal  expression  in  her  eyes,  and 
the  soul-felt  ardor  with  which  she  engaged 
in  every  work  of  love  and  goodness,  fre- 
quently caused  the  old  thought  to  return  to 
his  mind. 

O,  how  happy  were  the  days  when  those  two 
youths,  so  well  fitted  for  each  other's  companion- 
ship, visited  the  couch  of  sickness,  relieved  the 
indigent,  or  cheered  the  sad  heart  with  an  offer- 
ing of  flowers  from  the  gardens  which  they  had 
cultivated,  or  of  fruit  from  the  vines  which  they 
together  had  trained !  Emily  had  made  the 
promised  visit  on  Mrs.  Thornton's  little  g^l, 


54  THE  C:^RFUL  HEART. 

and  had  won  such  golden  opinions  from  both 
the  father  and  mother  of  Sophia,  that  at  Mi# 
T.'s  urgent  request  the  children  were  much  to- 
gether. 

Sophia  had  one  day  just  returned  from 
the  city,  where  she  had  been  to  make  a  visit, 
and  Emily  wasljfesing  the  afternoon  with  her. 
The  girls  were  enjoying  themselves  finely,  So- 
phia in  relating,  in  a  most  animated  manner,  the 
appearance  of  the  children  at  a  juvenile  concert 
she  had  recently  attended,  and  Emily  in  listen- 
ing, when,  in  a  moment,  the  former  was  seized 
with  a  dreadful  headache,  which  obliged  her  to 
leave  her  description  unfinished.  Emily  with 
the  utmost  tenderness  bent  over  her  friend, 
bathed  her  flushed  brow,  and  did  every  thing 
which  affection  could  dictate  for  the  relief  of 
the  sufferer;  and  Sophia  did  seem  better,  and 
insisted  upon  Emily's  remaining  with  her  through 
the  -night,  as  she  was  quite  sure  she  should  be 
well  in  the  morning,  and  would  then  be  able 
to  entertain  her  friend  with  what  she  had  seen 


DEATH  IN  TH£^y.LL&T.  55 


in  the  city.  Mrs.  Lawton's  consent  to  this  ar- 
rangement being  asked  and  obtained  very  read- 
ily, the  friends  retired  to  rest,  anticipating  much 
pleasure  on  the  morrow. 

As  Mrs.  Thornton  stole  softly  into  their  room 
before  she  retired,  she  found  them  asleep  locked 
in  each  other's  arms.  ^^ 

"  0,"  said  she,  as  she  looked  at  them,  "  can 
any  thing  be  more  lovely  ?  There  is  something 
in  innocent,  happy  childhood  which  speaks  to 
us  of  heaven  ;  which  tells  us  of  those  pure,  an- 
gelic beings  which  surround  the  throne  of  God, 
untouched  by  sin,  untainted  by  the  breath  of 
corruption." 

Alas  1  she  little  thought  the  sweet  sleepers 
were  almost  there  ;  that  they  were  soon  to  com- 
mence that  unending  song,  perfect  in  harmony 
only  in  the  bright  world  beyond  the  stars. 
Could  Death  have  power  over  any  thing  so 
beautiful  ?  Yes  ;  their  Father  in  heaven  was 
seeking  his  missing  jewels,  and  ho  called  them 
from  this  world,  all  glorious  as  it  was  to  them, 


56  THE  CHEERFUL  HEART. 

filled  with  the  flowers  which  they  loved  so  well, 
to  a  home  where  flowers  never  fade,  and  sorrow 
never  enters.  In  the  midst  of  happiness,  while 
their  speaking  eyes  were  yet  bright,  and  Etealth 
flung  around  them  her  rich  luxuriance,  that  de- 
vouring scourge  which  has  scathed  and  withered 
the  hopes  of  so  ,many  fond  parents,  and  sent  so 
many  of  the  beautiful  ones  of  earth  to  a  prema- 
ture grave,  had  marked  them  for  its  victims. 
The  scarlet  fever  was  in  the  valley,  and  where 
would  its  ravages  stop  ?  Instead  of  being  bet- 
ter in  the  morning  Sophia  was  worse,  and  in 
great  alarm  Mrs.  Thornton  summoned  Dr.  Law- 
rence. Every  thing  that  human  skill  could  do 
was  done,  but  it  availed  not ;  and  scarce  three 
days  had  passed  away  ere  all  that  remained  on 
earth  of  the  beloved  Sophia  was  the  cold  and 
untenanted  form  in  which  her  happy  spirit  had 
once  dwelt.  In  two  weeks  from  that  time  Emily 
was  also  called  from  earth  to  join  her  friend 
in  heaven.  The  widow  was  overwhelmed  with 
sorrow.    She  could  not  be  resigned.    Many  said 


DEATH  IN  THE  VALLEY.  57 

they  had  expected  it,  and  they  wondered  that 
she  should  be  so  overcome.  Ah,  they  knew  not 
what  treasures  of  the  heart,  what  rich  fancies 
had  been  destroyed,  sent  apparently  from  her 
very  grasp  by  this  blow.  Every  bright  vision 
of  the  future  had  been  connected  with  her  child  ; 
and  that  mother,  hopeful  as  she  naturally  was, 
could  not  at  once  gather  up  the  fragments  of 
her  shattered  hopes,  and  mould  them  anew. 
The  first  thing  which  aroused  her  from  her 
grief  was  a  visit  from  Arthur,  who  bore  in  his 
hand  a  bouquet  which  he  had  gathered  from 
Emily's  garden ;  he  had  culled  those  flowers 
which  he  knew  she  loved  the  best,  and  brought 
them  as  an  offering,  which,  he  trusted,  would 
soothe  the  mourner's  heart. 

"  0,  my  dear  friend,  I  thank  you  ;  you,  I  know, 
can  feel  for  me,  for  you  knew  and  appreciated 
my  child.  But,  madam,"  said  she  to  Mrs.  Bur- 
ton, "  how  feeble  is  language  to  express  the  ago- 
ny of  a  mother,  when  called  to  surrender  the 
cherished  object  of  her  love  to  the  silent  grave  ; 


58  THE   CHEERFUL  HEART. 

to  stand  by  the  bed  of  death,  and  watch  the 
sufferings  which  she  cannot  alleviate ;  to  see 
the  eye  now  beaming  with  consciousness,  and 
then  averted  by  distress,  and  to  know  that  no 
rest  but  that  of  the  grave  will  still  that  agony, 
and  that  the  moment  which  brings  relief  to  the 
sufferer  will  separate  her  from  all  on  earth  to 
whom  she  is  so  dear  ;  to  know  that  those  sealed 
lips  will  never  again  give  voice  to  the  sweet 
words  of  affection,  or  those  arms  be  extended 
to  caress  you !     0,  how  can  I  be  resigned  ?  " 

"  Look  for  the  *  silver  lining,'  my  dear  Mrs. 
Lawton,  and  see  it  in  the  sweet  smile  which  still 
illumines  the  face  of  Emily,  and  tells  us  that  she 
is  far  happier  than  she  could  be  amid  the  sor- 
rows of  this  earth.  Eemember  that  the  grave 
cannot  fetter  the  soul,  and  hers  is  now  expand- 
ing in  heaven.  She  was  happy  here  ;  she  is 
happy  there  ;  for  while  on  earth,  — 

•  Happy  and  joyful  on  she  moyed, 

Bright  angels  ever  near, 
For  well  are  earth's  pure  beings  loyed 
By  dwellers  in  that  sphere, 


DEATH  IN  THE  VALLEY.  59 

"Where  fadeless  flowers  and  crystal  rills 
Bich  music  breathe  amid  the  hills.'  " 

"I  will  be  calm,"  said  Mrs.  Lawton. 

"  Be  still,  my  heart !  what  could  a  mother's  prayer, 
In  all  the  vrildest  ecstasy  of  hope. 
Ask  for  its  darling  like  the  bliss  of  heaven  ?  " 

From  that  time  the  bereaved  mother  was 
calm.  Arthur  saw  her  shed  tears  but  once,  and 
it  was  when  they  laid  her  child's  body  in  the 
earth.  The  fever  continued  to  rage  in  the  val- 
ley until  the  cold  weather  came,  and  many  a 
cherished  one  was  called  home.  The  widow 
Lawton  and  Arthur  were  in  every  cot  where 
the  destroyer  came,  assisting  the  helpless,  com- 
forting the  mourner,  and  bidding  the  hopeless 
to  hope  again.  In  thus  doing  the  widow 
found  comfort.  The  Friend  in  whom  she  trust- 
ed never  forsook  her,  and  she  was  not  misera- 
ble. Sorrow  had  touched  her  cheek,  but  it 
was  only  with  a  softening  power.  She.  was 
pale,  but  not  wasted.    There  was  still  hope  in 


60  THE  CHEERFUL  HEART. 

her  heart,  the  hope  of  once  more  meeting  those 
who  had  gone  before  in  a  brighter  "world. 

She  could  calmly  look  upon  the  happiness  of 
others,  and  do  all  in  her  power  to  promote  it. 
She  felt  that  hers  would  come,  but  not  yet. 


THE   HERMIT.  61 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE   HERMIT. 

"  But  there  misfortune  followed  him, 
And  Sickness  with  her  livid  eye 
There  sought  him  out,  and  laid  her  hand, 
Her  withering  hand,  upon  his  brow. 
And  made  him  feel  a  pilgrim  there, 
And  that  his  place  on  earth  was  not 
In  that  far  sunny  land." 

In  one  of  Arthur's  rambles  among  the  hills  he 
came  upon  a  cottage,  which  so  nearly  partook 
of  the  color  of  the  shrubbery  which  surrounded 
it,  now  of  a  grayish  hue,  it  being  winter,  that 
he  would  not  have  observed  it  but  for  the  smoke 
which  was  gracefully  curling  upward  from  its 
chimney.  There  was  an  air  of  taste  evidenced 
in  the  rustic  seats  made  of  the  roots  and  branch- 
es of  trees,  in  the  training  of  the  trees  and 
shrubs,  which  ornamented  the  enclosure  at- 
6 


62  THE  CHEERFUL  HEART. 

tached  to  the  cottage,  which  interested  him,  and 
induced  him  to  approach  it,  hoping  to  get  a  peep 
at  its  inmates.  As  he  came  nearer,  he  overtook 
a  boy  who  was  a  few  years  younger  than  him- 
self, and  but  for  a  sickly  paleness  which  was  on 
his  thin  cheek,  he  would  have  been  handsome. 
As  it  was,  his  face  had  the  expression  which 
mental  cultivation  alone  can  give.  He  returned 
Arthur's  salutation  with  so  much  politeness  that 
he  was  very  agreeably  surprised.  Seeing  him 
about  to  enter  the  cottage,  young  Burton  said, — 

"  Will  you  allow  me  to  step  in  and  rest  my- 
self for  a  short  time?  I  have  been  rambling 
among  the  hills  for  several  hours,  and  am  con- 
siderably fatigued." 

"  Certainly,  sir ;  my  brother  will  be  glad  to 
have  you ;  and  although  he  cannot  see  you,  for 
he  is  blind,  yet  he  can  hear  you  converse,  and 
that  will  be  a  pleasure  to  him,  I  am  quite  surei 
He  is  rather  low  spirited  to-day,  however,  and 
may  not  entertain  you  as  agreeably  as  he  some- 
times could  ;  but  perhaps  your. call  will  do  him 
gopd." 


THE  HERMIT.  63 

Thus  cordially  invited,  Arthur  very  gladly 
entered,  and  saw  before  him  a  gentleman  of 
about  forty  years  of  age,  whose  form  and  face 
had  all  the  dignity  of  manly  beauty,  although 
sickness  and  hope  deferred  had  marked  it  with 
lines  which  made  him  look  older  than  he  really 
was.  His  eyes  were  large,  dark,  and  expressive, 
although  they  were  sightless.  At  first  you  would 
not  have  suspected  his  misfortune  ;  but  after  ob- 
serving him  closely,  you  would  perceive  from 
the  motions  of  his  hands  and  the  care  with 
which  he  moved,  that  he  was  deprived  of  one 
of  God's  best  gifts  to  man.  His  mouth  had  an 
expression  of  so  much  tenderness,  particularly 
when  he  replied  to  his  young  brother's  ques- 
tions, that  Arthur's  heart  was  drawn  towards 
liim  at  once.  His  dress,  although  old-fashioned, 
^was  neat  in  the  extreme,  and  seemed  to  our 
'fyoung  friend  in  accordance  with  what  he  sup- 
posed from  his  appearance  his  character  must 
be.  With  perfect  ease  Mr.  Carlton  (for  that 
was  his  name)  entered  into  a  conversation  with 


64  THE   CHEEEFUL  HEART. 

Arthur  which  soon  convinced  him,  young  as  he 
■was,  that  he  had  met  with  a  person  possessing 
no  common  mind,  and  who  must  have  devoted 
years  to  intellectual  pursuits.  In  fact,  the  boy 
was  so  delighted  with  his  visit,  that  he  pro- 
longed it  until  the  sun  was  sinking  behind  the 
western  hills ;  and  even  then  he  felt  unwilling  to 
part  with  his  new  friend.  Mr.  Carlton  appeared 
on  his  part  equally  gratified,  and  urged  Arthur 
to  repeat  his  visit  with  an  earnestness  which 
convinced  him  that  he  was  a  welcome,  although 
unexpected,  guest. 

Upon  his  return  home,  he  related  to  his  moth- 
er the  agreeable  acquaintance  he  had  made,  and 
expressed  a  desire  to  know  more  of  the  stranger. 
Mrs.  Burton  made  some  inquiries  with  regard 
to  this  gentleman.  All  that  was  known  of  him 
was,  that  a  few  years  previous  to  Mrs.  Burton's 
removal  to  the  valley,  the  recluse  had  come 
there  and  bought  the  cottage  which  he  occupied, 
which  was  then  in  a  dilapidated  condition,  but 
had  since  been  made  habitable.    He  was  led 


THE  HERMIT.  65 

about  by  his  young  brother,  who  had  always 
devoted  himself  to  him,  seeming  to  anticipate 
his  every  wish.  The  neighbors  had  tried  to 
become  acquainted  with  Mr.  C.  at  first,  but  he 
appeared  so  reserved,  although  he  answered 
their  inquiries  with  kindness,  that  they  had 
ceased  to  call  upon  him.  All  the  information 
they  could  obtain  was  through  Mrs.  Brown, 
the  laundress,  who  said  that  whenever  she  went 
to  get  the  clothes  the  young  brother  was  either 
reading  aloud  to  him,  or  working  in  the  garden 
in  the  summer.  And  said  she,  (for  although 
something  of  a  gossip,  yet  she  was  "  a  very  good 
hearted  woman,")  "It  almost  makes  the  tears 
come  in  my  eyes  to  see  little  Robert  lead  his 
brother  about,  always  finding  the  nicest  seat  in 
the  prettiest  spot  for  him  ;  and  one  day — would 
you  believe  it  ?  —  the  dear  child  carried  him  the 
most  beautiful  bunch  of  roses,  lilies,  and  pinks 
that  you  ever  saw,  just  as  if  he  could  see  them 
with  his  poor  blind  eyes,  which  look  at  me  often 
in  such  a  way  that  I  can  scarcely  think  he  is 
6* 


66  THE   CHEERFUL  HEART. 

blind.  I  know  he  is  though,  for  when  he  took 
the  flowers,  he  said, '  Thank  you,  brother  ;  they 
are  very  fragrant  and  very  beautiful,  I  know, 
for  although  I  cannot  see  them,  yet  I  have_  not 
forgotten  how  they  used  to  look,  and  I  can  tell 
by  the  feeling  that  they  are  very  perfect  in  form. 
You  have  succeeded  finely  in  raising  them,  and 
they  are  a  great  comfort  to  me ; '  and  then  he 
placed  his  hand' on  Robert's  head,  and  turned 
towards  him  with  so  much  love  in  his  face,  that 
his  little  brother  would  have  kissed  him,  I  know, 
if  I  had  not  been  there.  Every  morning,  Rob- 
ert goes  to  the  city,  but  he  gets  back  before 
noon,  and  if  I  happen  to  go  to  Mr.  Carlton's 
while  he  is  away,  he  is  always  playing  upon  his 
fiddle,  or  violin,  as  he  calls  it ;  and  once  I  heard 
him  singing  a  song  which  was  so  sad  that  you 
would  have  cried  to  hear  it.  It  was  about 
friends  he  had  lost,  and  I  could  hear  his  voice 
tremble  once  in  a  while  when  he  was  singing  it. 
I  didn't  like  to  go  in  then,  so  I  went  round  after 
the  other  folks'  clothes  first,  and  when  I  got 


THE  HEKMIT.  67 

back  he  was  in  the  garden  with  Robert.  0, 1 
wish  you  could  hear  him  play,  for  he  makes  the 
fiddle  laugh  or  cry,  or  whatever  he  wishes.  I 
am  so  glad,  as  I  told  my  husband  to-day,  that  he 
can  amuse  himself  with  his  music.  He's  got 
heaps  upon  heaps  of  books  ;  but  what  a  pity  he 
can't  see  to  read  one  of  them  ;  but  Robert  reads 
them  to  him,  and  that's  a  comfort ;  but  he,  poor 
boy,  looks  sick  and  delicate  like,  and  can't  last 
forever.  He  would  be  better,  I  know,  if  he 
would  play  with  other  boys.  I  told  him  so  once, 
but  he  said  he  was  well,  and  that  he  could  not 
leave  his  brother.  We  had  some  nice  vegetables 
the  other  day,  and  I  told  my  boy  to  take  them 
over  some ;  but  I  thought,  perhaps,  I  had  better 
go  myself,  as  Mr.  Carlton  was  so  particular  like. 
He  thanked  me,  but  I  thought  from  his  manner 
that  he  would  rather  I  should  not  have  brought 
them ;  so  I  haven't  sent  any  thing  else.  He  don't 
seem  proud,  but  yet  I  think  he  don't  like  to  take 
favors.  He  is  a  good  man,  I  believe,  and  a  great 
scholar ;  but  he  don't  want  to  get  acquainted 


68  THE   CHEERFUL   HEABT. 

with  folks,  for  Mrs.  Cross  called  to  see  him, 
and  although  she  says  he  treated  her  well,  yet 
somehow  she  didn't  want  to  go  again.  Ev- 
ery body  calls  him  the  Hermit,  and  they  don't 
trouble  him  now,  but  let  him  live  in  his  own 
way.  I  saw  Arthur  Burton  go  there  the  other 
day,  and  since  then  he  has  been  a  number  of 
times,  so  I  guess  Mr.  Carlton  likes  him ;  but  that 
is  nothing  strange,  for  every  body  loves  him,  for 
he  is  always  doing  good  to  every  body.  I  never 
shall  forget  what  he  did  for  us  when  my  Mary 
Ann  was  sick  ;  but  you  all  know  him,  so  I  need 
not  tell  you  of  his  good  deeds  ;  and  here  I  have 
been  talking  for  an  hour,  and  Mary  Ann  is  at 
home  all  alone  ;  she  won't  know  what's  got  me." 
And  away  went  the  kind-hearted  but  loquacious 
gossip,  Mrs.  Brown. 

Arthur  continued  to  visit  Mr.  Carlton,  and 
each  visit  endeared  the  recluse  to  him  more  and 
more.     One  day  Mr.  C.  said  to  him,  — 

"  My  dear  boy,  I  feel  that  I  am  growing  so 
fond  of  your  society  that  I  know  not  what  I 


THE  HERMIT.  69 

should  do  if  deprived  of  it;  yet  I  have  been 
thinking  that  if  we  devoted  some  of  the  hours 
we  spend  together  to  reviewing  your  studies, 
your  mother  would,  perhaps,  approve  of  it,  and 
would  be  willing  to  spare  you  longer  to  me. 
Bobert  is  one  of  the  best  fellows  in  the  world, 
and  one  of  the  most  devoted  brothers ;  he  is 
obliged,"  said  Mr.  C,  with  some  hesitation,  "  to 
spend  his  forenoons  in  the  city,  writing  ;  for,  al- 
though so  young,  under  my  teachings  he  has 
learned  to  keep  books  very  neatly,  and  in  that 
way  he  earns  enough  for  our  support,  with  a 
small  fund  which  I  possess.  Our  wants  are  easi- 
ly supplied  ;  therefore  a  few  hours  a  day  are  all 
that  is  necessary  for  him  to  apply  himself.  I 
fear,  although  he  never  complains,  that  he  is  not 
quite  well,  and  if  he  has  a  companion  of  his  own 
age,  I  think  it  will  be  beneficial  to  us  bo||^ 
Your  cheerful,  hopeful  spirit  has  already  done 
wonders  for  us  ;  and  at  times  I,  who  had  almost 
become  a  misanthrope,  can  see  in  my  mind's  eye 
the  '  silver  lining '  to  the  dark  clouds  which  have 


70         THE  CHEERFUL  HEART. 

overshadowed  my  life.  I  can  instruct,  although 
I  am  blind  ;  for  fortunately  I  am  blessed  with  a 
gfood  memory,  and  can  recall  almost  all  that  I 
learned  before  this  misfortune  overwhelmed  me. 
For  years  I  feared  it,  and  endeavored  to  lay  up 
a  store  of  information  against  the  long  night 
of  darkness  which  I  believed  was  to  come  up- 
on me." 

"  My  mother  will  be  delighted,  sir,  to  find  such 
a  teacher  ;  for  she  was  saying,  a  few  days  since, 
that  she  should  be  obliged  to  look  out  for  a 
tutor  for  me,  as  I  was  getting  beyond  *  her 
knowledge,'  and  you  would  exactly  suit  her,  I 
am  sure,  if  you  will  take  me  as  your  pupil.  Mr. 
Thornton  has  a  son  of  the  same  age  as  myself, 
and  there  is  Charley  Afton,  whose  tuition  my 
mother  will  defray,  and   ourselves,  with  your 

«|)ther  Robert,  will  just  make  up  a  pleasant 
ass.     0,  do  consent  to  take  us,  Mr.  Carlton  ; 
"  it  will  only  occupy  a  few  of  your  spare  hours, 
and    will,    perhaps,    amuse    without   fatiguing 
you." 


THE  HERMIT.  71 

"If  your  parents  approve  I  shall  like  the 
plan  much." 

"  When  shall  we  begin,  Mr.  Carlton  ?  But  1 
have  already  been  receiving  instructions  from 
you  at  every  interview." 

"  As  soon  as  your  friends  are  ready,  Arthur. 
But  do  not  be  too  enthusiastic ;  you  may  not 
progress  as  rapidly  in  all  your  studies  as  if  your 
teacher  could  see,  but  in  some  it  will  make  no 
difference.  I  have  a  good  library,  although  not 
very  large ;  but  to  that  you  shall  always  have 
access,  and  when  you  feel  disposed  to  read  aloud 
to  me,  the  habits  of  discipline  which  I  acquired 
when  in  college  may  be  of  advantage  to  us 
now." 

"  How  much  we  shall  all  thank  you,  sir,"  said 
Arthur,  "  for  allowing  us  to  make  this  arrange- 
ment!   We  will  be  ready  by  the  day  after  1^^ 
morrow,  as  I  am  quite  sure  of  the  approval  of  '^-. 
our  friends." 

As  Arthur  had  supposed,  his  mother,  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Thornton,  and  Charley's  parents  were  high- 


72  THE  CHEERFUL  HEART. 

ly  gratified  at  finding  a  tutor  for  their  children 
so  near  home,  and  one  with  whom  an  after 
acquaintance  proved  a  source  of  the  greatest 
pleasure.  Months  pas^d  on,  and  the  young 
men  progressed  with  rapidity  in  their  studies, 
and  became  so  much  attached  to  their  teacher 
that  they  vied  with  each  other  in  guiding  him 
in  his  walks  ;  for  now  the  recluse  was  often 
persuaded  to  accompany  his  young  friends 
home,  where  he  always  received  a  cordial 
welcome.  Few  persons  possessed  such  conver- 
sational powers  as  Charles  Carlton,  and  as  he 
brought  forth  from  the  inexhaustible  storehouse 
of  his  memory  incidents  which  he  had  met  with 
in  his  travels,  sketches  of  persons  whom  he  had 
seen  abroad,  and  relations  from  books  which  he 
had  read,  all  paused  to  hear,  forgetting  the  flight 
of  time.  It  was  most  touching,  however,  to 
listen  to  his  vivid  descriptions  of  Nature  in  all 
her  forms,  as  he  spoke  of  the  stars,  the  moun- 
tains, the  lowly  flowers  at  their  base,  the  ocean 
in  its  mild  and  in  its  stormy  moods,  he  seemed 


THE  HERMIT.  73 

agaiQ  to  be  contemplating  them,  and  one  could 
scarcely  believe  tliat  lie  was  only  living  in  the 
past.  At  these  times  he  was  happy,  for  he  dwelt 
in  a  wQrld  so  beautiful  that  he  forgot  his  great 
deprivation.  Said  he  to  Arthur's  mother,  one 
morning,  — 

"I  am  a  better  and  a  wiser  man,  madam, 
since  I  have  known  your  son,  for  he  has  taught 
me  lessons,  boy  as  he  is,  which  will  cheer  my 
pathway,  and  lead  me  to  see  brightness  where 
all  before  was  dark  and  dreary.  I  will  one 
day  relate  to  you  my  history,  and  then  you  can 
judge  for  yourself  whether  my  life  has  not  been 
a  sad  one  ;  and  you  will  not  wonder  that  I 
desired  to  shut  myself  out  from  communing 
with  my  kind:  The  people  here  have  called  me 
the  'Hermit,'  and  I  deserved  the  appellation, 
for  I  secluded  myself  from  society,  and  by  my 
acts  at  least,  if  not  by  my  words,  declined  their 
companionship.  I  did  wrong,  as  Arthur  has 
taught  me  to  think,  for  people  were  disposed  to 
pity  the  blind  man's  lot.  Even  my  laundress, 
7 


74  THE  CHEERFUL  HEART. 

unlearned  as  she  is,  speaks  to  me  with  a  tender- 
ness in  her  tones  which  always  goes  to  my  heart, 
and  offers  her  services  to  myself  and  Eobert 
with  a  delicacy  I  have  often  looked  for  in  vain 
in  those  occupying  what  the  world  calls  a  far 
higher  station  in  life." 

"Ah,  yes,  my  friend,"  replied  Mrs.  Burton, 
"  my  own  experience  has  proved  that  true  good- 
ness oftener  dwells  beneath  the  cotton  garment 
than  the  silken  and  velvet  attire." 

In  the  pursuit  of  his  self-imposed  duties  and 
in  the  society  of  his  kind  friends,  months  passed 
tranquilly  by  to  Mr.  Carlton,  and  in  the  cheer- 
ful, active,  social  being  who  now  frequently 
visited  the  cottagers,  noticed  their  children,  and 
always  received  their  attentions  with  kindness, 
few  would  have  recognized  the  silent,  reserved 
hermit  who  seldom  left  his  solitary  home  except 
to  take  a  short  walk  with  his  delicate-looking 
little  brother,  who  had  seemed  almost  too  frail 
to  long  continue  an  inhabitant  of  earth.  The 
change  in  Robert  was  as  great  as  that  which 


THE   HERMIT.  75 

had  taken  place  in  his  brother  ;  for  in  seeing  that 
dear  friend  on  whom  his  very  existence  appeared 
to  depend,  happy,  he  became  joyfnl  himself,  and 
the  healthful  exercise  which  the  pupils  of  Mr. 
Carlton  daily  took  had  invigorated  his  frame, 
and  given  color  to  his  pale  cheek. 

"I  will,  as  I  promised,  madam,  relate  my  his- 
tory to  you,"  said  Mr.  Carlton  to  Mrs.  Burton, 
one  stormy  evening  which  he  was  passing  at  her 
house ;  "  we  are  not  liable  to  any  interruption, 
as  the  night  is  so  inclement." 

"  It  will  afford  us  much  pleasure  to  listen  to 
it,  my  dear  sir,"  said  Mrs.  Burton  ;  "  but  if  it 
will  pain  you  to  recall  events  long  past,  do  not 
make  the  effort  for  our  gratification." 

"  Arthur's  pleading  looks  would  induce  me  to 
go  on,  had  I  no  other  motive,  ma'am  ;  but  I 
think  the  effect  of  the  narration  will  be  salutary 
upon  myself,  for  now,  thanks  to  my  young  friend 
here,  I  can  see  '  silver  linings '  to  many  of  the 
clouds  with  which  my  life  has  been  darkened. 

"I  was  born  in  this  country,  in  the  delightful 


76  THE   CHEERFUL  HEART. 

town  of  D .  My  parents  were  descend- 
ants of  highly  respectable  families,  who  had 
borne  unsullied  reputations  for  generations. 
Never  very  wealthy,  but  generally  well  to  do  in 
the  world,  they  had  always  given  one  or  more 
of  their  sons  a  collegiate  education,  and  many 
of  them  had  held  ofi&ces  of  trust  in  the  states 
in  which  they  resided.  My  father  was  in  public 
life,  and  he  possessed  a  mind  of  no  stinted  re- 
sources. He  was  not  a  great  man,  but  he  was  a 
good  one  in  the  true  sense  of  the  word,  and  my 
mother,  my  beloved  mother,  was  every  way  wor- 
thy to  be  the  bosom  friend  and  companion  of 
such  a  man.  She  was  to  my  father  the  *  very 
spirit  of  his  being,'  and  when  she  left  this  world 
for  a  better,  his  sun  appeared  to  set  in  dark- 
ness. The  good  always  seem  to  be  taken  from 
earth  young,  as  if  this  world,  with  its  cares, 
its  trials  and  sorrows,  were  no  fitting  abode  for 
their  pure  spirits.  From  this  time  my  father's 
health  began  to  fail,  and  ere  two  years  had 
passed  over  his  head,  the  tomb  which  held  my 


THE  HERMIT.  77 

mother's  remains  was  again  opened,  and  my 
father  was  laid  by  her  side.  They  were  united 
in  heaven ;  but  we,  one  sister  and  myself,  were 
left  to  mourn  over  a  deserted  hearthstone  and 
a  cheerless  home.  My  mother's  harp  we  still 
retained  as  a  sacred  thing,  and  as  Angela  and 
myself  looked  at  it,  we  sometimes  imagined  that 
we  should  again  see  her  dear  form  bending  over 
it ;  and  often  in  the  silent  night  I  have  thought 
that  I  heard  her  touching  its  chords  as  in  days 
which  were  forever  past.  It  was  a  long  time 
before  I  discovered  that  it  was  my  sister  who 
stole  at  that  hour  to  the  room  which  my  mother 
had  occupied,  to  commune  in  this  way  with  our 
sainted  parent,  for  the  child  really  believed  that 
her  mother  assisted  her  in  her  efforts  to  improve 
herself  in  an  art  which  she  worshipped ;  and, 
perhaps,  if  this  is  permitted,  it  was  so,  for  that 
young  girl  (she  was  only  sixteen)  became  one  of 
the  finest  players  on  the  harp  in  the  vicinity. 
At  the  time  of  my  parents'  death  I  had  not  fin- 
ished my  collegiate  course,  and  in  accordance 
7* 


78  THE  CHEERFUL  HEART. 

with  their  desire,  I  went  through  with  it.  As 
soon  as  the  clods  were  replaced  on  my  father's 
grave,  I  sold  our  house,  hurried  from  the  spot, 
and  taking  Angela  with  me,  went  on  with  my 
studies  with  an  earnestness  and  determination 
which  soon  prostrated  a  frame  never  vigorous. 
A  fever  laid  me  on  my  couch  for  weeks,  and 
during  that  time  I  learned  the  value  of  a  sister's 
tender  love  and  care.  But  Angela's  constitution 
was  unequal  to  the  task  which  she  had  under- 
taken, and  fatigue  and  anxiety  overcame  her, 
and  when  I  was  pronounced  convalescent  she 
was  laid  upon  a  bed  of  sickness.  She  was  in  a 
constant  state  of  delirium,  and  most  touchingly 
would  she  entreat  her  attendants  to  allow  her 
to  go  to  her  mother,  if  only  for  a  few  moments  ; 
and  then  she  would  imagine  that  I  needed  atten- 
tion, and  that  she  must  see  me.  0  madam,  the 
agony  I  then  endured  can  scarcely  be  conceived 
of.  She  was  all  I  had  left  to  love  on  earth  ;  and 
0,  how  earnestly  I  prayed  that  her  life  might  be 
spared.    My  prayers  w^re  answered,  and  for  a 


THE  HERMIT.  79 

few  years  more  she  remained  here  to  illumine  a 
home,  which  but  for  her  presence  would  have 
been  all  dark  to  me.  Years  passed  on,  and  I 
selected  the  profession  of  law,  by  which  to  ob- 
tain a  livelihood ;  for  although  we  had  some 
property  left  us,  still  there  was  not  sufficient 
to  support  us  as  I  wished  without  exertion.  I 
found  myself,  however,  poorly  adapted,  after  a 
few  years'  experience,  to  push  my  fortunes  in  this 
way,  as  I  could  scarcely  breathe  in  the  atmos- 
phere of  the  law  courts  ;  so  I  abandoned  my 
profession,  and  devoted  myself  to  literary  pur- 
suits, into  which  my  sister  entered  with  her 
whole  soul.  But  somebody  else  had  discovered 
the  beauty  and  brightness  of  the  gem,  which  I 
had  determined  to  appropriate  to  my  own  use. 
Angela  was  wooed  by  one  worthy  of  her,  and  I 
could  not  deny  my  sanction  to  her  marriage, 
for  I  felt  it  would  be  wrong  for  me  to  be  thus 
selfish,  although  I  really  believe  she  would  have 
remained  with  me,  and  led  a  single  life,  if  I  had 
expressed  one  desire  to  that  effect.    I  could  not 


80  THE   CHEERFUL  HEART. 

do  it ;  so  she  was  married,  and  I  knew  that  she 
was  happy.  Solitary  and  alone,  —  for  I  could 
not  intrude  my  moody  self  upon  her  happiness, 
—  I  res'olved  to  travel,  particularly  as  this  was 
prescribed  by  my  physicians,  as  my  health  was 
failing,  and  I  then  first  began  to  perceive  a 
weakness  in  my  vision,  which  was  attributed  to 
feebleness  of  body.  For  the  next  five  years  I 
lived  among  the  most  beautiful  scenes  of  earth. 
I  visited  England,  and  gazed  upon  its  won- 
drous architectural  piles,  planned  by  those  who 
had  for  scores  of  years  been  dust.  I  went  to 
France,  and  feasted  my  soul  upon  her  galleries 
of  paintings,  and  gained  a  degree  of  health  be- 
neath her  sunny  skies.  I  next  wandered  to  the 
laud  of  your  birth,  where  the  rosy  heavens  and 
the  glorious  sunshine  so  early  ripen  the  hearts 
which  dwell  beneath  their  influence.  I  drank 
in  rich  draughts  of  loveliness,  as  I  gazed  upon 
that  bay  which  is  in  sight  of  the  home  of  your 
childhood.  I  loitered  long  'mid  the  cliffs  which 
overlook  it,  laying  up  a  store  of  beauty  which 


THE  HERMIT.  81 

should  dwell  in  my  mind  after  my  fading  vision 
should  be  lost  in  darkness.  I  studied  Nature  in 
all  her  forms.  The  grand,  the  picturesque,  the 
lovely,  the  frightful,  all  had  charms  for  me  ;  for 
I  was  tracing  pictures  upon  my  mind  which  I 
hoped  to  make  so  indelible  there,  that  when 
blindness  came  upon  me  (for  I  felt  that  it  must 
come)  I  might  live  over  again  the  happy  hours 
which  I  had  passed  amid  her  great  storehouse, 
and  be  resigned  to  what  was  inevitable.  Little 
by  little  the  light  faded  from  me.  I  was  not 
blind,  but  I  could  not  for  years  see  distinctly ; 
yet  I  thanked  Heaven  that  I  could  see  even  that 
little.  But  I  must  hasten  on  to  the  saddest  part 
of  my  story.  Sorrows  many  and  great  now  be- 
fell me.  One  who  had  promised  to  bear  my 
name,  and  whom  I  had  deemed  all  that  was  ex- 
cellent, proved  recreant  to  her  vows,  and  wedded 
another,  in  whom  I  had  confided  as  if  he  had 
been  a  brother  ;  that  false  friend  not  only  seri- 
ously injured  me  pecuniarily,  but  he  made  a 
wound  in  my  heart  which  has  never  quite  healed. 


82  THE  CHEERFUL  HEART. 

I  hurried  home,  sure  of  finding  a  true,  loving, 
sympathizing  friend  in  my  sister.  'Yes,'  said 
I,  'Angela  loves  me  better  than  herself.  She 
will  receive  me,  poor,  blind,  hopeless,  and  de- 
sponding as  I  am.'  I  hastened  on,  sure  of 
grasping  one  warm  hand,  and  clasping  to  my 
breast  one  heart  that  could  feel  for  me.  It 
were  better  I  had  lingered,  for  the  blow  would 
haye  been  spared  me  for  a  time. 

"  Alas !  madam,"  said  Mr.  Carlton,  "  instead 
of  the  kiss  of  affection  and  the  tear  of  joy  at 
my  return,  I  found  but  a  grave.  Angela  had 
gone  to  rejoin  those  whom  she  had  so  loved  in 
heaven.  Her  husband  was  dead,  also,  of  the 
same  fever,  and  a  feeble  boy  was  all  that  was 
left  to  remind  me  of  the  joys  past,  never  to  re- 
turn on  earth.  That  child  is  Robert,  who*has 
always  called  me  brother,  as  he  liked  the  name 
better  than  that  of  uncle,  and  a  dear  and  tender 
brother  he  has  been  to  me  ;  but  for  him  I  should 
long  since  have  sunk  into  my  grave  ;  but  feeling 
that  I  had  something  to  live  for  has  caused  me 


THE   HERimt  83 

to  make  an  effort  to  support  life,  and  I  have 
lived  on,  caring  not  for  companionship,  therefore 
shunning  my  fellows.  "While  Robert  was  very 
young,  I  went  and  came  among  men  where  duty 
bade  me,  avoiding,  however,  all  society  as  much 
as  possible,  only  mixing  with  those  who  took 
care  of  the  child,  or  when  it  was  necessary  to 
attend  to  his  wants  and  my  own.  The  boy  was 
too  young  when  'the  pall  of  death'  was  let 
down  upon  his  parents  to  remember  the  great 
affliction  which  had  befallen  him  ;  but  when,  as 
he  grew  older,  I  led  him  to  their  graves,  and 
told  him  of  his  mother,  he  wept  such  tears  as 
children  seldom  shed  :  and  since  then  I  am 
sensible  he  has  felt  bitterly  that  void  in  the 
heart  which  only  an  orphan  can  know.  He  is 
much  older  in  feeling  than  in  years,  and  as  soon 
as  he  could  guide  my  steps,  I  requested  a  friend 
to  purchase  the  cottage  which  I  now  occupy ; 
for  I  remembered  this  valley,  and  have  often 
wandered  here  in  happier  days  with  my  mother 
and  Angela.    The  city  had  lost  its  charms  for 


84  THE  §HEERFUL  HEART. 

me,  and  the  world  its  allurements,  and  I  stood 
upon  my  native  soil  as  a  stranger  in  a  strange 
land.  Disappointment,  misfortune,  and  ill  health 
clustered  around  me,  and  thus  my  character  took 
its  stamp,  and  Robert,  being  constantly  with  me, 
learned  to  feel  as  I  felt,  and  think  as  I  thought. 
If  Angela  had  lived,  we  should  have  been  differ- 
ent beings,  for  her  heart  was  too  finely  attuned 
to  care  much  for  the  enjoyments  of  earth  ;  hers 
was  a  mind  which  would  command  respect  wher- 
ever she  moved.  With  all  this,  my  sister  could 
love  with  the  fervor  and  strength  of  woman, 
and  upon  those  whom  she  did  love  was  poured 
out  a  wealth  of  affection  which  nought  but  death 
could  destroy.  You  will  forgive  me,  madam, 
for  dwelling  thus  upon  her  virtues  ;  but  when 
speaking  of  her,  I  forget  every  thing  else. 
After  I  came  to  the  valley,  as  you  know^  I  de- 
clined all  companionship,  and  lived  only  for 
Robert,  who  devoted  himself  to  me  with  an 
untiring  love,  seldom  manifested  by  a  child  of 
his  age.    We  had  been  here  about  two  years 


THE  HERMIT.  85 

when  my  sight  failed  entirely,  and  I  have  since 
lived  in  the  past.  Eobert  every  day  read  to 
me  from  some  volume  in  my  library,  and  in  in- 
structing him  and  in  thinking  of  the  incidents 
of  my  life,  time  has  slowly  gone  on,  bringing  me 
each  year  nearer  to  its  close.  But  since  my 
acquaintance  with  your  son,  I  have  become 
another  being,  and  have  borrowed  from  his 
cheerful,  loving  spirit  rich  draughts  of  content, 
and  even  happiness  ;  for  owing  to  his  sugges- 
tion and  your  kindness,  my  little  class  of  pu- 
pils was  formed,  and  in  listening  to  their 
recitations  and  in  gaining  a  knowledge  of 
their  natures,  I  have  forgotten  my  own  sorrows, 
and  have  become,  I  trust,  a  better  man.  I  can 
now  endure  the  thought  of  living  many  years, 
and  have  no  desire  to  murmur  at  what  I  once 
considered  an  eternal  night.  I  can  now  play 
upon  my  mother's  harp,  which  until  within  a  few 
months  was  kept  out  of  sight,  and  I  almost  feel, 
at  times,  as  Angela  did,  as  if  in  thus  doing  I 
8 


86  THE   CHEERFUL   HEART. 

was  communing  with  the  loved,  and  not  lost, 
only  gone  before." 

"I  wonder  not  at  your  sadness,  ray  dear 
sir,"  said  Mrs.  Burton,  as  she  wiped  the  tears 
from  her  eyes ;  "  yours  have  been  such  sor- 
rows as  but  few  could  sympathize  with,  for 
but  few  have  suffered  as  you  have.  I  have 
known  affliction,  but  I  have  never  sorrowed 
without  hope  ;  there  has  generally  been  a  ray 
of  brightness  to  penetrate  my  clouds,  and  keep 
me  from  utter  despair.  I  have  almost  always 
been  able  to  see  'the  silver  lining,'  and  have 
tried  to  live  above  earth  and  its  transitory 
joys." 

"  I  must  now  bid  you  and  Arthur  good  night," 
said  Mr.  Carlton.  "  Our  walk  home  will  not 
be  an  unpleasant  one  ;  for  Robert  tells  me,  and 
I  know  from  the  feeling  of  the  atmosphere,  that 
the  storm  has  passed  away.  How  pure  the  air 
is,  and  how  fragrant  are  the  flowers  and  shrubs ! 
Perhaps  I  can  appreciate,  if  not  the  sights,  the 


THE  HEEMIT.  87 

perfumes  and  the  sweet  sounds  of  nature  better 
than  those  who  possess  in  perfection  all  their 
senses  ;  for  as  one  fails  Heaven  mercifully  quick- 
ens those  which  remain."  And  with  a  cheerful 
smile  upon  his  features,  Mr.  Carlton  took  leave 
of  his  friends  for  the  night. 

"  My  son,"  said  Mrs.  Burton,  "  I  am  anxious 
that  Dr.  Lawrence  should  become  acquainted 
with  Mr.  Carlton.  He  has  a  high  reputation 
for  the  treatment  of  eye  diseases,  and  possibly 
something  could  be  done  for  our  friend.  I  will 
invite  the  doctor  here,  and  perhaps,  after  your 
tutor  has  learned  to  appreciate  -his  many  excel- 
lences, he  will  confide  in  him,  and  allow  him 
to  examine  his  eyes." 

"I  wish  he  might,  mother.  I  spoke  to  him 
.about  it  a  short  time  since,  but  he  replied  that 
he  had  had  them  examined  many  times,  and  had 
spent  much  money,  and  been  imposed  upon  so 
frequently  that  he  had  determined  never  to 
make  another  trial,  but  must  be  resigned  to 
his  lot.     I  think,  however,  that   his  feelings 


88  THE   CHEERFUL  HEART. 

have  changed  since  then,  and  that  he  now  might 
be  induced  to  consult  Dr.  Lawrence.  At  any 
rate,  two  such  men  should  be  acquainted." 

"  Mr.  Carlton  has  promised  to  have  his  harp 
brought  over,  and  play  to  us  some  evening  next 
week.  I  will  ascertain  which  will  be  most  con- 
venient to  him,  and  then  we  will  send  for  the 
doctor." 

"  In  the  mean  time  I  will  see  Dr.  Lawrence, 
mother,  and  enlist  his  feelings  in  Mr.  Carlton's 
behalf;  but  that  is  hardly  necessary,  for  I  am 
•sure  Dr.  L.  will  be  delighted  with  him  as  soon 
as  he  hears  him  converse,  especially  if  we  can 
make  Mr.  C.  forget  that  there  is  a  stranger 
present,  as  you  know  he  is  sometimes  reserved 
at  first." 

*'  Well,  my  son,  do  as  it  pleases  you  best.  I 
shall,  I  am  sure,  be  satisfied  with  your  arrange- 
ments ;  and  if  such  a  valuable  man  as  Mr.  Carl- 
ton can  be  restored  to  society,  and  to  the  useful- 
ness he  is  capable  of,  we  shall  all  have  great 
reason  to  rejoice." 


THE  HERMIT.  89 

Eobert  was  let  into  the  secret,  if  thus  it  may 
be  called,  planned  by  Mrs.  Burton  and  Arthur, 
for  a  meeting  to  take  place  between  Dr.  Law- 
rence and  Mr.  Carlton,  and  the  excellent  boy 
was  almost  wild  with  delight  at  the  idea  of  his 
beloved  friend's  sight  being  benefited.  Mrs. 
Burton  felt  compelled  to  tell  him  that  it  was 
altogether  improbable  that  Mr.  C.'s  eyesight 
could  be  restored  ;  but  she  also  said  that  it  was 
right  to  hope,  even  though  their  ardent  wishes 
might  be  disappointed.  Robert,  however,  was 
such  an  enthusiast  that  his  transports  could 
scarcely  be  moderated,  and  he  was  so  uncom- 
monly joyous  that  Mr.  Carlton  noticed  it,  and 
rejoiced  at  it  as  an  evidence  of  returning  health. 

"Wednesday  was  the  evening  appointed  for 
the  meeting  at  Mrs.  B.'s,  and  with  Mr.  C.'s 
consent  all  of  his  pupils  were  present  to  hear 
him  play  upon  the  harp.  Dr.  Lawrence  did  not 
arrive  until  young  Thornton  and  Charles  Afton 
had  left,  much  gratified  with  their  tutor's  music, 
for  he  was  a  proficient  in  the  art ;  but  they  were 
8* 


90  THE  CHEERFUL  HEART. 

obliged  to  bid  their  friends  good  night  at  an 
early  hour,  that  their  lessons  for  the  following 
day  might  be  in  readiness.  It  was  past  eight 
o'clock  when  the  good  doctor  came  ;  he  apolo- 
gized for  his  late  call,  by  saying  the  duties  of 
his  profession  had  detained  him  ;  he,  therefore, 
hoped  his  excuse  would  be  deemed  suJBficient. 

"Certainly,"  said  Mrs.  Burton;  "but  allow 
me  to  introduce  you  to  our  friend,  Mr.  Carlton, 
my  son's  tutor,  of  whom  you  have  heard  us  so 
frequently  speak." 

As  Mrs.  Burton  spoke,  the  doctor  turned  to 
offer  his  hand  to  Mr.  C,  but  hastily  withdrew 
it,  and  fairly  hugged  him  around  the  neck,  in  a 
most  cordial  and  characteristic  manner.  This 
surprised  Mrs.  B.  and  Arthur  ;  but  their  surprise 
was  increased  fourfold  when  the  dignified  Mr. 
Carlton  returned  the  doctor's  embrace  with 
equal  cordiality.  The  doctor  was  the  first  to 
break  the  silence,  by  exclaiming, — 

"  Can  I  believe  my  senses  ?  and  is  this  Ed- 
ward Crawford,  the  long-cherished  and  dearly- 


THE   HERMIT.  91 

loved  friend  of  my  youth,  whom  I  have  mourned 
as  dead  in  a  foreign  land  ?  Well,  Cheerful 
Heart,  wonders  will  never  cease,  and  I  believe 
you  are  fated  to  bring  good  news.  I  always 
rejoiced  at  your  coming,  but  I  little  thought  that 
you  would  introduce  me  to  one  whom  I  had 
long  given  up  as  lost  in  this  world.  With  all 
your  other  good  qualities,  I  had  no  idea  that 
you  could  bring  the  dead  to  life.  But,  Edward, 
tell  me  where  you  have  been,  and  when  you 
returned  to  your  native  land,  why  you  did  not 
inform  me  of  it.  Did  you,  could  you  believe 
that  Charles  Lawrence  had  changed ;  or  that 
he  could  ever  forget  one  of  a  family  to  whom  he 
owed  so  much  ?  Do  explain,  for  Mrs.  Burton 
and  Arthur,  as  well  as  myself,  are  longing,  I 
know,  to  have  the  mystery  solved." 

"  My  dear  Charles,  this  is  as  much  of  a  sur- 
prise to  me  as  to  you  ;  for  when  I  came  home, 
and  found  the  last  link  which  bound  me  to  earth 
severed  by  the  death  of  Angela,  I  was  informed, 
when  I  sought  you,  to  pour  into  your  faithful 


92  THE  CHEERFUL  HEART. 

breast  my  sorrows,  that  you  had  gone  abroad, 
and  were  not  expected  to  return  for  years.  De- 
siring to  be  entirely  forgotten  by  those  who  had 
known  me  in  happier  days,  I  changed  my  name, 
and  with  Angela's  child  retired  to  the  cottage 
which  we  now  occupy.  You  will  remember  that 
my  sight  was  poor  when  I  left  home,  but  at  that 
time  you  thought  with  care  it  might  be  pre- 
served  ;  but  alas !  I  could  not  be  careful  of  it, 
for  my  only  pleasure  arose  from  study,  and  I 
used  to  read  nearly  all  night,  as  my  mind  was 
in  such  a  state  that  I  could  not  sleep.  This, 
with  ill  health,  brought  about  what  I  had  so 
long  dreaded  ;  and  for  four  years  I  have  seen 
only  with  my  mind's  eye  the  beauties  which  sur- 
round me.  But  I  am  now  happy,  thanks  to  Ar- 
thur, who  has  planned  a  delightful  occupation 
for  me.  0  doctor,  you  cannot  imagine  how 
much  I  owe  him ;  for  when  I  first  made  his  ac- 
quaintance, I  was  fast  becoming  a  misanthrope, 
feeling  that  I  never  again  could  love  any  body 
but  Kobert,  and  that  none  else  cared  whether  I 


THE  HERMIT.  93 

lived  or  died.  But  though  my  eyes  are  closed 
forever  upon  this  beautiful  earth,  and  all  my 
former  prospects  are  blighted,  yet  I  am  re- 
signed, and  now  feel  as  if  my  usefulness  and 
happiness  were  in  a  degree  restored." 

"But,  Edward,"  said  the  doctor,  "it  is  possi- 
ble that  your  sight  can  be  restored ;  and  as  I 
look  at  your  eyes,  I  have  strong  hopes  that 
this  may  be  the  case.  I  will  come  to-morrow, 
and  bring  an  eminent  oculist,  Dr.  Williams, 
with  me.  He  is  remarkably  skilful,  and  has 
already  restored  many  to  sight,  who  had  for 
years  been  blind.  He  is  not  only  very  skilful 
in  his  profession,  but  you  will  find  him  wor- 
thy of  your  regard  for  the  unbounded  benev- 
olencei  of  his  heart.  In  fact,  he  belongs  to 
'the  highest  style  of  man,'  and  his  views  and 
feelings  as  a  Christian  are  beautifully  blended 
with  those  of  a  classical  scholar." 

"From  your  description,"  said  Mrs.  Burton, 
"  I  shall  be  impatient  to  make  the  doctor's  ac- 


94  THE  CHEERFUL  HEAET. 

qiiaintance ;  and  I  see  from  Arthur's  eyes  that  I 
give  voice  to  his  wishes  also." 

"  0,  yes,  Cheerful  Heart,"  said  the  doctor,  "  I 
prophesy  you  and  he  will  be  bosom  friends  at 
once,  for  you  are  congenial  souls." 

"Your  partiality,  my  dear  sir,  blinds  you  to 
my  many  faults ;  but  I  trust  one  day  I  shall  be 
deserving  of  it." 

With  a  cordial  grasp  of  the  hand  from  all, 
the  good  doctor  went  on  his  homeward  way, 
hoping,  almost  with  certainty,  that  the  blessing 
of  restored  sight  was  in  store  for  his  friend 
Crawford. 

Mr.  Crawford,  as  we  will  now  call  him,  re- 
turned home  that  night  with  hope  in  his  heart, 
although  he  scarcely  dared  indulge  it,  he  had 
been  so  frequently  disappointed  in  the  checkered 
scenes  of  his  life. 

•  Robert's  face  fairly  glowed  with  joy,  as  he 
said  to  his  brother,  "  You  will  see,  I  know  you 
will ;  for  such  a  skilful  man  as  Dr.  Lawrence 
cannot  well  be  mistaken ;  and  every  thing  elso 


THE  HERMIT.  95 

unpleasant  will  vanish  before  so  much  happi- 
ness." 

"  It  would  certainly  have  a  wonderful  effect, 
my  dear  Robert ;  but  we  must  not  be  too  san- 
guine, lest  the  disappointment  should  be  more 
than  we  can  bear." 

But  Robert  could  not  be  as  calm  as  his  broth- 
er, and  he  lay  the  whole  night  without  closing 
his  eyes,  thinking  of  walks  which  he  would  take 
with  him,  and  lovely  views  which  he  would  show 
him  when  he  could  see  again.  Just  as  morning 
dawned,  he  fell  asleep  only  to  dream  over  his 
waking  thoughts,  and  to  start  from  his  light 
slumbers,  rejoicing  at  the  bright  prospect  before 
his  beloved  friend.  At  the  appointed  hour  the 
physicians  arrived ;  and  after  carefully  examin- 
ing Mr.  Crawford's  eyes,  and  consulting  togeth- 
er, they  decided  that  it  was  on  many  accounts 
best  that  an  operation  should  be  performed,  as 
in  all  probability  Mr.  C.'s  sight  could  be  par- 
tially, if  not  entirely,  restored. 

Arthur,  who  had  waited  with  the  most  intense 


96  THE  CHEERFUL  HEART. 

interest  to  learn  the  result  of  their  consultation, 
hastened  to  inform  his  mother  and  Robert  of 
the  good  news.  It  was  a  long  time,  however, 
before  the  latter  could  be  found  ;  but  at  last  he 
was  discovered  in  his  room  on  his  knees  so  ear- 
nestly petitioning  Heaven  in  his  brother's  behalf, 
that  he  did  not  hear  his  friend's  step,  and  was 
so  overcome  with  joy  at  his  announcement,  that 
it  was  some  moments  before  he  could  speak. 
It  was  decided  that  Mr.  Crawford  should  go 
to  the  city  where  the  operation  was  to  be  per- 
formed, and  where  Robert  was  to  remain  with 
him  until  he  could  with  safety  return  to  his  own 
home. 

The  operation  was  performed  by  Dr.  Williams, 
three  days  after  Mr.  Crawford  went  to  the  city. 
It  was  successful,  and  the  patient  was  allowed 
to  take  just  one  look  at  the  world  of  beauty 
around  him,  and  then  he  was  led  to  a  darkened 
room,  and  light  was  gradually  admitted,  until 
his  no  longer  sightless  eyeballs  were  able  to 
bear  the  brightness  of  day. 


THE  HERMIT.  97 

But  we  will  now  return  to  the  valley,  and 
learn  what  has  oeen  going  on  there  during  our 
absence.  But  we  mjist  go  back  a  few  weeks, 
and  admit  our  readers  into  a  secret  which 
caused  Arthur  and  the  two  doctors  to  lay  their 
wise  heads  together  for  several  hours  in  each 
day,  after  it  was  ascertained  to  a  certainty 
that  Mr.  Crawford's  sight  would  be  restored. 
Knowing  Mr.  C.'s  talent  for  teaching,  Arthur 
had,  with  the  approbation  of  his  excellent  friend 
the  doctor,  resolved  to  interest  influential  per- 
sons in  the  city  of  D.,  and  friends  in  the  valley, 
who  were  able  to  assist  in  building  an  academy 
there,  to  which  a  house  .should  be  attached,  in 
which  the  preceptor  should  live,  and  where  pu- 
pils from  abroad  could  board  under  his  immedi- 
ate supervision.  When  every  thing  was  in  read- 
iness, it  was  their  intention  to  request  Mr.  Craw- 
ford to  take  charge  of  it,  with  Robert  for  an 
assistant.  Here  boys  were  to  be  prepared  for 
college  in  one  department,  and  it  was  proposed 
that  Charles  Afton  should  instruct  the  younger 
9 


98  THE   CHEEEFUL  HEART. 

children  of  tlie  valley  iu  another,  winters,  as  he 
designed  to  go  to  college,  and  what  he  could 
earn  in  this  way  would  nearly  defray  his  ex- 
penses ;  and  as  his  father  was  now  prospering 
in  business,  he  would  gladly  make  up  any  defi- 
ciency. 

Arthur's  plan  was  highly  approved  of  by  all 
to  whom  it  was  mentioned,  and  a  sum  was  soon 
collected  sufficient  to  put  up  a  fine,  convenient 
building,  spacious  enough  for  the  purposes  de- 
sired. Mr.  Thornton  generously  gave  the  land, 
and  also  enough  for  a  common  and  playground 
for  the  pupils.  In  the  course  of  the  summer,  a 
gentleman  in  the  city,  who  was  much  pleased 
with  the  plan,  and  had  already  given  largely, 
gave  in  addition  several  thousand  dollars,  the 
income  of  which-  was  to  be  appropriated  as 
a  salary  for  teachers,  for  keeping  the  building 
in  repair,  ornamenting  the  grounds,  &c.  Daisy 
Valley  Academy,  therefore,  became  an  endowed 
institution,  and  bade  fair  to  open  under  as 
favorable  auspices  as  any  seminary  of  the  kind 


THE  HERMIT.       .  99 

in  the  country.  One  clause  in  the  conditions 
of  this  gentleman's  gift  delighted  the  inhabit- 
ants of  The  valley  very  much.  It  was  this. 
Every  scholar  who  prepared  for  college  in  that 
academy  was,  in  each  year  of  his  stay  there, 
to  set  out,  at  least,  one  tree,  and  was  himself 
to  take  every  care  in  his  power  to  make  it 
live,  and  if  it  died  he  was  to  replace  it ;  and 
in  this  way  in  a  few  years  the  grounds  would 
be  ornamented  and  beautified. 

Early  in  the  spring  of  the  next  year  the  acad- 
emy was  completed,  and  Mr.  Crawford,  now  in 
possession  of  his  eyesight,  was  invited  to  take 
charge  of  it.  With  heartfelt  gratitlide  to  the 
friends  who  had  exerted  themselves  so  much  in 
his  behalf,  he  accepted  the  appointment,  and 
devoted  himself  to  the  duties  devolving  upon 
him  with  an  energy  and  determination  which 
promised  great  results.  His  health  and  spirits 
rapidly  improved  in  an  employment  for  which 
he  was  so  well  adapted. 

But  probably  some  of  our  readers  will  like 


100  THE   CHEEEFUL  HEAET. 

to  know  how  he  felt  after  his  return  to  the  val- 
ley, when  the  long  night  which  it  had  been  his  lot 
to  endure  had  departed.  Arthur  and  Robert  were 
his  companions,  and  as  they  guided  him  among 
the  charming  scenery  of  their  beloved  valley, 
and  pointed  out  to  him  its  pretty  white  cottages, 
embowered  amid  the  tall  elms,  woodbines,  and 
honeysuckles,  he  said  they  looked  like  *'  bowers 
of  peace  in  a  little  world  of  fragrance  and 
beauty."  They  lingered  until  the  shades  of 
evening  were  gathering  about  them,  and  the  last 
rays  of  the  setting  sun  were  edging  the  summits 
of  the  hills  with  purple  and  gold.  "  0,"  said 
Mr.  Crawford,  "such  scenes  were  always  de- 
lightful to  me,  but  this  is  more  beautiful  and 
impressive  than  any  I  have  ever  imagined." 
His  heart  seemed  overflowing  with  joy,  and  he 
expatiated  upon  the  beauties  around  him  with 
the  enthusiasm  which  such  an  occasion  fully  justi- 
fied. He  was  a  changed  man  from  the  time  that 
his  sight  was  restored,  for  he  not  only  looked 
upon  every  object  with  the  eye  of  a  poet  and 


THE  HERMIT.  101 

a  painter,  but  with  the  deep  fervent  gratitude 
of  a  Christian.  He  saw  every  thing  as  the 
work  of  a  Father  who  loveth  his  children,  and 
has  filled  this  world  Avith  beauty  for  their  en- 
joyment. All  around  him  spoke  to  his  heart 
and  awoke  the  poetry  of  feeling  which  lived, 
but  had  been  hidden  there  during  the  years  of 
darkness  which  had  passed  so  sadly  to  him. 
In  his  new  vocation,  the  traits  of  excellence, 
which,  under  other  circumstances,  would  not 
have  been  discovered,  expanded,  and  the  purity 
and  elevation  of  his  mind,  and  the  tenderness 
of  his  nature,  evidenced  themselves,  and  won  for 
him  the  regard  and  affection  of  his  pupils  and 
friends.  As  a  teacher,  he  gave  universal  satis- 
faction ;  and  such  was  the  reputation  of  the 
school,  {hat  new  applicants  were  constantly  pre- 
senting themselves,  even  after  the  number  to 
which  it  was  limited  was  made  up.  Charles 
Afton  in  his  department  gave  equal  satisfaction, 
and  it  was  proverbial  of  Daisy  Yalley  scholars 
that  they  were  improving  faster  than  in  any 
9* 


102  THE   CHEERFUL  HEART. 

institution  of  the  kind  in  the  vicinity.  Arthur 
and  Charles  were  to  go  to  college  in  the  spring, 
as  this  was  thought  best  by  their  teacher,  as 
they  were  already  prepared  to  enter  a  year  in 
advance,  and  unwilling  as  they  both  were  to 
leave  their  beloved  valley,  yet,  of  course,  they 
acquiesced  in  Mr.  Crawford's  views,  realizing 
that  he  had  their  best  good  at  heart.  Kobert 
preferred  remaining  with  his  brother,  as  he  had 
decided  that  his  proper  vocation  was  to  be  an 
assistant  to  this  beloved  friend ;  and  as  such, 
Mr.  Crawford  considered  him  invaluable,  and 
rejoiced  at  his  decision,  as  he  had  so  long  been 
his  companion  that  he  could  not  endure  the  idea 
of  a  separation.  The  day  for  the  departure  of 
Arthur  and  Charles  at  length  arrived,  and  it 
made  a  great  sensation  in  the  valley,  for  there 
was  scarcely  a  family  in  the  whole  place  that 
had  not  in  some  way  been  benefited  by  Arthur, 
and  by  Charles  as  his  ready  and  efficient  assist- 
ant. Old  and  young  gathered  around  them  as 
they  were  about  getting  into  the  coach  which 


THE  HERMIT.  103 

was  to  convey  them  to  their  destination,  and 
showered  little  gifts  and  blessings  upon  them, 
weeping  at  the  idea  of  even  their  short  ab- 
sence. 

"  TVe  will  take  the  best  care  of  your  mother 
and  Miss  Netta,"  said  one. 

"Not  a  weed  shall  rear  its  head  in  your 
garden,"  said  another. 

"  And  the  flowers  you  shall  see  in  our  patches 
when  you  come  back,  Mr.  Arthur,  will  do  your 
eyes  good  to  look  at,"  said  another,  whom  Ar- 
thur had  encouraged  to  industry. 

"  God  bless  you  all,"  said  Arthur,  as,  waving 
his  cap  to  them,  the  coach  turned  a  corner,  and 
he  was  hidden  from  their  view. 

"  Ah,  Charley,"  said  he  to  his  companion,  "  I 
had  rather  deserve  such  love  as  theirs  than  to 
possess  the  wealth  of  the  Indies.  But  whom 
have  we  here?  Old  Mrs.  Blake,  I  declare. 
Well,  I  am  glad  to  see  her  once  more  ;  for  I 
was  sorry  to  leave  without  bidding  her  another 
good-by,  for  she  is  one  of  my  best  friends.    Mr. 


10-i  THE   CHEERFUL   HEART. 

Clark,  please  to  stop  a  minute  ;  here  is  a  friend 
that  I  wish  to  speak  to." 

"  We  are  behind  our  time,  Mr.  Arthur  ;  but  I 
cannot  deny  your  request,  for  I  have  not  for- 
gotten that  you  saved  my  life  last  winter,  when 
but  for  your  assistance  I  should  have  frozen  to 
death,  having  taken  a  little  too  much  at  the 
tavern ;  and  thanks  to  you,  since  I  have  not 
tasted  a  drop  of  the  villanous  stuff,  and  never 
will,  God  helping  me.  Step  up,  goody;  you 
shall  speak  to  Master  Arthur,  if  I  am  late." 

The  old  lady  approached,  holding  in  her  hand 
a  little  bundle,  which  she  had  come  a  mile  to 
present,  old  and  feeble  as  she  was.  "  Good-by, 
Master  Arthur,"  said  she.  "  I  couldn't  have  you 
leave  without  saying  one  more  good-by,  and 
asking  God  to  bless  you  ;  but  ho  will,  I  know, 
if  the  prayers  of  the  widow  and  orphan  are 
heard.  Here  are  a  pair  of  stockings  such  as 
you  told  me  you  liked  ;  and  you  will  wear  them 
to  please  me,  won't  you.  Master  Arthur?  and 
when  you  put  them  on,  perhaps  you  will  some- 


THE  HERMIT.  105 

times  think  of  the  widow  whose  heart  you  made 
to  sing  for  joy." 

"I  give  you  many  thanks  for  them,  Mrs. 
Blake ;  they  are  just  what  I  wanted.  And  you 
may  be  sure  I  shall  not  forget  you,  and  the 
pleasant  chats  we  have  had  together.  I  shall 
come  and  see  you  when  I  return,  and  eat  some 
of  your  nice  cakes  again." 

"  I  am  old,  Master  Arthur,  and  may  not  live 
until  then ;  but  if  I  do  not,  we  shall  meet  in 
heaven." 

"  And  on  earth,  too,  many  timep,  I  hope,  Mrs. 
Blake.  I  shall  be  back,  if  my  life  is  spared,  in 
six  months,  and  one  of  my  first  calls  will  be 
upon  you,  to  tell  you  how  your  present  wore." 
And  having  in  this  way  caused  the  old  lady  to 
smile,  he  bade  her  good  morning,  and  was  soon 
out  of  sight. 

"  If  I  envy  you  any  thing,"  said  Charles,  "  it 
is  the  possession  of  such  blessings  as  those,  Ar- 
thur ;  for  he  that  receives  them  is  rich  indeed, 


106         THE  CHEERFUL  HEART. 

both  in  this  world,  and  he  will,  I  am  sure,  reap 
a  large  interest  in  another." 

"  You  must  not  envy  me  my  treasure,  my  dear 
fellow,  and  you  need  not,  for  you  certainly  de- 
serve your  share,  and  I  cannot  afford  to  lose 
even  one  of  those  pure  coins." 

Arthur  and  Charles  soon  gained  friends  at  H. 
They  were  eminent  for  their  talents,  and  for 
the  faithful  discharge  of  their  duties.  They 
exerted  an  influence  which  was  felt  throughout 
the  college.  To  Arthur  the  name  of  Peace- 
maker was  given,  for  he  often  adjusted  disputes 
and  reconciled  feuds  which  had  existed  for  a 
length  of  time.  In  fact,  he  was  almost  invaria- 
bly called  upon  by  his  class  when  any  point  at 
issue  was  to  be  settled ;  and  so  much  was  his 
opinion  respected,  that  even  the  one  decided 
against  generally  admitted  the  justice  of  the 
decision,  and  went  away  trying  to  be  satisfied. 

The  months  passed  rapidly  away,  and  in 
the  pursuit  of  their  studies  our  young  friends 


THE   HERMIT.  107 

found  true  enjoyment.  They  applied  themselyes 
closely,  yet  they  found  time  for  long  walks 
among  the  fine  scenery  of  H.  which  combined 
the  beautiful  with  much  of  the  sublime  and  pic- 
turesque. On  two  sides  of  the  town  the  pros- 
pect is  bounded  by  irregular  ranges  of  lofty 
mountains,  whose  summits  rise  against  the  sky, 
assuming  a  variety  of  fantastic  forms,  their 
sides  being  clothed  with  t^ll  pines.  Arthur  and 
Charles  felt  quite  at  home  here,  although  the 
hills  which  surrounded  the  Yalley  of  Daisies 
were  pygmies  when  compared  with  the  cloud- 
capped  mountains  of  H.  Almost  every  day  the 
friends  found  some  new  and  charming  scene, 
which  lay  hid  among  the  hills,  and  they  looked 
with  renewed  delight  upon  the  varied  and  ex- 
tensive prospect  commanded  from  their  tops. 
At  one  time  smiling  villages,  with  their  happy 
homes,  lay  before  them,  and  from  another  point 
of  view  could  be  seen  far  away  in  some  valley 
a  silver  streamlet,  whose  course  they  could  trace 
until  it  entered  the  broad  bosom  of  a  river. 


108  THE  CHEERFUL  HEART. 

which  bore  it  onward  to  the  ocean.  And  again 
they  looked  upon  a  town,  where  men  were  hur- 
rying to  and  fro,  each  seeming  intent  upon 
some  object  which  demanded  all  their  attention. 
Large  manufactories  reared  their  broad  fronts 
in  the  streets,  and  spacious  mansions  were  to 
be  seen  which  gave  indication  of  wealth  and 
thrift. 

"  But  where  are  their  trees  ?  "  said  Arthur. 
"  I  could  not  live  contentedly  in  a  town  without 
trees  ;  it  seems  as  if  all  had,  in  this  instance, 
been  felled  for  building  purposes.  0,  how  deso- 
late a  home  must  be  there !  so  unlike  our  val- 
ley, Charles,  which,  is  almost  a  wilderness,  you 
know." 

"  Look  again,  Arthur,  more  to  the  right,  and 
you  will  see  a  redeeming  feature  in  that  little 
world  of  bustle." 

Arthur  did  look,  and  saw  nestled  away  among 
a  forest  of  evergreen  trees  and  shrubs  a  church, 
whose  modest  front  peeped  out  from  the  tall 
guardian  pines  and  elms  which  sheltered  it  with 


THE  HERMIT.  109 

their  protecting  arms.  Its  spire  pierced  the 
clouds,  and  pointed  heavenward,  as  if  to  remind 
the  busy  dwellers  in  the  town  that  earth  was 
not  their  abiding-place.  One  day  the  friends 
were  about  ascending  a  mountain,  the  highest 
in  the  range ;  they  paused  at  its  foot  to  speak 
to  an  aged  man,  whose  white  locks  floated  in 
the  breeze,  but  whose  firm  step  and  hale,  rud- 
dy face  contradicted  the  tale  which  they  told. 
He  entered  into  conversation  with  them,  and 
related  many  incidents  connected  with  the  moun- 
tains, which  interested  them  much.  Among  oth- 
ers, he  spoke  of  a  legend  which  was  believed  by 
the  red  men  who  once  dwelt  in  the  vicinity,  and 
whose  hunting  grounds  had  now  passed  into  the 
hands  of  strangers  who  had  forgotten  their  red 
brothers,  or  remembered  them  only  as  a  race 
long  since  passed  away.  Said  he,  "  The  tribe 
which  owned  this  part  of  the  country  was  quite 
numerous,  and  a  finer  formed,  brighter  eyed, 
or  braver  hearted  race  never  trod  their  native 
woods.  Oswego  was  one  of  their  bravest  war- 
10 


110         THE  CHEERFUL  HEAET. 

riors,  and  was  looked  up  to  -with  reverence  by 
the  whole  tribe  on  this  account.  He  had  been 
in  danger  of  losing  his  life  many  times,  yet  never 
for  a  moment  did  his  bright  eye  quail ;  and  when 
led  by  his  foes  in  chains  to  an  almost  certain 
and  lingering  death,  still  his  proud  lip  curled  in 
scorn,  and  he  dared  them  to  do  their  worst. 
By  his  own  cunning  he  escaped  from  their  hands, 
and  lived  years  after  to  chase  the  deer  among 
the  vast  hunting  grounds  of  his  tribe  ;  foi*  they 
extended  much  farther  than  the  eye  can  reach, 
even  beyond  those  hills  where  sinks  the  setting 
sun.  One  day,  in  his  wanderings,  he  was  en- 
gaged so  earnestly  in  his  favorite  pursuit  that 
he  marked  not  the  flight  of  time.  A  sudden 
storm  arose  ;  the  loud  pealing  thunder  echoed 
through  the  rocks,  and  the  lightning's  vivid  flash, 
reflected  in  yonder  lake,  was  all  that  lighted 
up  the  scene,  which  was  now  shrouded  in  mid- 
night darkness.  Still  the  heart  of  the  brave 
warrior  quailed  not,  and  its  throbs  were  not 
quickened  ;  he  loved  the  storm,  for  to  his  spirit 


THE  HERMIT.  Ill 

such  scenes  were  congenial.  Cautiously  he 
threads  his  way  amid  dangers  which  would  have 
appalled  one  less  brave  ;  suddenly  he  stops, 
however ;  an  unaccustomed  sound  strikes  his  ear. 
It  is  as  if  a  river  was  so  near  him  that  it  would 
be  foolhardy  to  proceed  until  the  storm  has 
passed  ;  and  now,  as  another  flash  lights  up  the 
scene,  he  sees  before  him  a  mighty  torrent,  dark 
as  night,  and  deep  and  rapid  in  its  course  as  if 
it  would  bear  all  before  it.  He  pauses  ;  and 
now  the  storm  is  almost  over,  for  the  sun  is  onco 
more  fringing  the  dark  clouds  with  purple  and 
gold,  and  in  the  far  east  the  rainbow  flings  its 
changing  hues  over  the"  sky.  The  rain  has 
ceased,  and  the  warrior  looks  about  him  to  dis- 
cover which  is  the  best  course  for  him  to  take 
to  reach  his  home,  for  in  the  darkness  he  has 
lost  his  way.  There  seems  to  be  but  one  path  ; 
but  why  does  he  not  go  on  ?  Why  is  his  face 
pale  with  dread  ?  Why  sinks  that  brave  heart 
for  the  first  time  ? 


112         THE  CHEERFUL  HEART. 

<  It  fears  not  man !  and  shall  it  faint 
"When  Fancy's  doubts  assail  ? 
On,  red  man,  on !  your  way  lies  on. 
Where  yonder  craggy  height 
Hangs  o'er  the  torrent's  rocky  bed, 
Dark  as  the  womb  of  night ! ' 

"  It  was  told  by  the  wise  of  his  nation,  that 
on  the  frowning  height  which  he  must  climb  in 
order  to  reach  his  home,  or  retrace  his  steps, 
the  '  Great  Spirit '  was  throned  ;  and  never  be- 
fore had  one  of  his  tribe  ventured  so  near  to 
that  sacred  rock  ;  and  if  he  presumed  to  go 
on,  the  avenging  bolts  of  Heaven,  he  felt  sure, 
would  be  hurled  upon  his  head.  He  dared  not 
tempt  the  wrath  of  Him  who,  he  believed,  sat  in 
'lofty  grandeur'  upon  that  mountain,  or  cross 
the  dark  lake  at  its  foot ;  so,  veiling  his  sight, 
he  turned  to  pursue  his  homeward  way  in  anoth- 
er direction.  But,  alas  I  what  had  been  little 
rills  when  he  passed  them  in  the  morning,  ere 
the  Storm  Spirit  was  abroad,  were  now  mighty 
rivers  —  torrents,  which  bore  every  thing  before 
them ;  for  that  is  frequently  the  case  among 


THE  HERMIT.  113 

these  mountains,  and  during  one  thunder  storm 
the  aspect  of  the  place  will  be  so  changed  that 
you  would  scarcely  recognize  the  spots  which 
you  had  passed  an  hour  before.  The  strong 
warrior  wandered  on  ;  but  the  difficulties  in  his 
way  increased,  and  darkness  coming  on,  he  be- 
came completely  bewildered.  That  night  his 
wigwam  was  without  a  master,  and  the  ashes 
grew  cold  upon  his  hearthstone.  The  morning 
sun  arose  upon  the  corpse  of  Oswego,  and  that 
lake  which  he  had  so  much  dreaded  had  become 
his  grave  ;  for  all  unknowingly  he  had  returned 
to  it,  and  found,  too  late,  that  by  braying,  as  he 
believed,  the  dread  presence  '  which  wielded  in 
his  hand  the  thunder  clouds,'  he  had  paid  the 
penalty  with  his  life.  Long  his  tribe  mourned 
his  loss,  and  long  Dove  Eye,  his  bride,  waited 
and  watched  for  his  coming  ;  but  his  quick  step 
no  more  bent  the  tall  grass  of  his  native  valley, 
and  his  unerring  aim  no  more  brought  down  the 
swift  deer.  Dove  Eye  refused  to  be  comforted  ; 
and  one  day  they  found  her  wrapped  in  a  sleep 
10* 


114  THE   CHEERFUL  HEART. 

from  which  she  did  not  awaken  ;  she  had  gone 
to  rejoin  her  husband  in  a  brighter  land  beyond 
the  rising  sun. 

"  The  bones  of  a  man  were  found  by  a  party 
of  white  men,  a  few  years  since,  at  the  foot  of 
yonder  mountain,  and  near  the  lake,  which  at 
that  time  could  be  waded  across.  They  were 
gathered  up  and  placed  in  a  cave,  which  I  will 
show  you ;  and  there  they  will  remain  until  they 
moulder  back  to  dust,  for  those  who  had  a  right 
to  claim  them  have  gone  to  their  happy  hunting 
grounds,  which  no  stranger  hands  shall  deprive 
them  of." 

Arthur  and  Charles  accompanied  the  old 
man  to  the  cave  whicli  he  had  mentioned,  and 
looked  upon  the  remnants  of  mortality,  which, 
he  said,  were  "all  that  was  left  of  the  brave 
warrior,  who  feared  to  dare  the  Great  Spirit." 
Thanking  him  for  his  kindness,  they  parted  with 
their  new  friend,  promising  to  visit  his  home  at 
some  future  time. 

But  now  the  term  has  nearly  closed,  and  a 


••   THE  HEEMIT.  116 

letter  has  been  received  by  Mrs.  Burton,  -which 
contains  the  joyful  news  that,  in  a  very  short 
time,  Arthur  and  Charles  may  be  expected  in 
the  valley.  For  many  days  after  this,  friends 
were  busily  employed  in  arranging  every  thing 
about  the  house  and  garden  in  the  most  tasteful 
and  advantageous  manner,  for  his  reception. 

It  was  June,  and  the  whole  valley  was  filled 
with  fragrance.  The  roses,  Arthur's  favorite 
flowers,  were  in  full  bloom,  and  the  loved  home 
of  his  childhood  had  never  presented  a  more 
beautiful  appearance.  He  and  Charles  were 
expected  on  Wednesday,  and  anxiously  were 
the  hands  of  the  clock  watched  by  Annette  and 
her  mother,  as  the  hour  drew  near  for  the  com- 
ing "of  the  dusty  vehicle,  which,  only  twice  a 
week,  came  to  the  valley ;  for  there  was  not  as 
much  travelling  then  as  now,  and  if  a  journey 
was  contemplated  on  any  other  day  the  person 
must  go  to  the  city  to  speak  for  his  passage. 
Several  of  Arthur's  most  intimate  friends  had 
assembled  at  Mrs.  Burton's  to  await  his  arrival, 


116  THE  CHEERFUL  HEART. 

among  otliers,  Mr.  Crawford  and  Robert,  Dr. 
Lawrence,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Thornton,  &c.  Soon 
the  wheels  of  the  coach  are  heard  in  the  dis- 
tance, and  unable  to  wait  quietly  in  the  house, 
Mrs.  Burton  and  Annette  are  at  the  gate.  The 
stage  comes  nearer  and  nearer,  and  at  length 
it  stops,  and  in  another  moment  the  beloved  son 
and  brother  is  clasped  to  the  hearts  of  those 
dear  friends. 

"  How  well  you  are  looking,  my  son ! "  said 
Mrs.  Burton.  "  Why,  I  should  scarcely  know 
my  pale,  thin  boy  in  the  tall,  rosy,  dark-com- 
plexioned young  man  who  has  returned  to  me  ; 
but  I  see  that  the  dark  color  will  not  be  perma- 
nent, as  now  your  hat  is  removed,  I  find  that 
your  forehead  retains  its  native  line." 

"Yes,  dear  mother,  I  am  much  tanned;  and 
thanks  to  my  rambles  among  the  mountains  and 
to  Dr.  Lawrence's  advice,  I  am  in  better  health 
than  ever  before.  You  are  looking  just  the 
same,  but  Annette  has  changed  ;  0,  how  much ! 
I  left  her  a  child,  and  she  seems  almost  a  woman. 


THE  HERMIT.  117 

Do  not  blusli,  sis  ;  tlie  change  is  certainly  for  the 
better,  and  I  shall  be  prouder  of  you  than  ever, 
for  I  see  that  you  retain  the  same  loving  heart, 
and  are  the  same  self-sacrificing,  affectionate  sis- 
ter as  when  I  left." 

Arthur  was  astonished  at  the  improvement  in 
Annette  ;  she  had  become  as  lovely  in  person  as 
she  was  in  mind.  Her  mother's  teachings  had 
not  been  lost  upon  her,  and  another  person  be- 
sides her  brother  looked  upon  her  intellectual 
and  amiable  countenance  with  an  emotion  which 
he  could  not  control.  This  was  Charles  Afton, 
who  now  came  forward  and  received  a  warm 
welcome  also,  for  he  had  greatly  endeared  him- 
self to  all  the  inhabitants  of  the  cottage,  and 
his  absence  had  been  felt  next  to  Arthur's. 

"  Well,  Cheerful  Heart,"  said  the  doctor,  who 
now  warmly  shook  hands  with  his  favorite,  "  I 
see,  if  I  had  not  made  some  advances  myself, 
these  good  people  would  have  entirely  monopo- 
lized you  and  Charles,  and  the  Hermit  and  we 
other  '  folks '  should  have  seen  nothing  of  you 


118         THE  CHEERFUL  HEAET. 

until  it  was  too  dark  for  us  to  discover  how 
much  you  had  improved  in  looks,  increased  in 
stature,  &c.  But  seriously,  my  dear  fellow,  it 
does  my  old  heart  good  to  see  that  you  are 
looking  in  such  good  health,  and  Charley,  too  ; 
well,  really,  if  going  to  college  makes  people 
look  so  much  better  and  handsomer,  I  think  it 
would  be  well  for  you  and  I,  Crawford,  to  try 
it,  as  we  are  getting  a  little  in  the  sere  and 
yellow  leaf,  and  it  would  be  quite  a  benefit  to 
us  to  become  young  and  good  looking  again." 

"  My  dear  pupils,"  said  Mr.  Crawford,  "  I  re- 
joice to  see  you  distinctly,  for  you  know  that  I 
could  only  look  at  you  with  a  partially  obscured 
vision  when  you  left ;  but  now  my  sight  is  per- 
fectly restored,  and  I  am  really  one  of  the  hap- 
piest men  upon  earth,  for  with  sight  I  feel  as  if 
all  obstacles  in  my  path  were  nothing,  and  could 
be  overcome  with  scarce  an  effort.  But  I  am 
detaining  you  from  other  friends." 

Robert,  Arthur  was  delighted  to  find,  was  in 
good  health,  and  instead  of  the  silent,  reserved 


THE  HERMIT.  119 

boy  they  had  left,  had  sprung  up  into  a  cheerful, 
intelligent  young  man,  who  could  enter  with 
spirit  and  good  sense  into  the  conversation. 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Thornton,  with  the  other  friends, 
also  welcomed  the  returned  students  to  their 
home,  but  not  more  warmly  than  many  a  more 
humble  friend,  who  modestly  awaited  their  turn 
to  grasp  the  hands  which  had  so  often  been 
outstretched  for  their  benefit.  Even  Goody 
Blake  had  hobbled  over  to  Mrs.  Burton's  to  see 
young  Master  Arthur ;  and  right  glad  was  he 
to  return  her  friendly  words,  and  to  invite  her 
in  where  she  could  rest  her  weary  limbs,  and  be 
taken  gf)od  care  of  by  the  thoughtful  Annette, 
who,  Mrs.  Blake  declared,  was  "just  like  Ar- 
thur," his  "very  moral,"  in  faci;. 

Seldom  has  a  happier  evening  been  passed 
than  that  at  Mrs.  Burton's  cottage.  The  night 
and  the  scenes  around  were  beautiful,  but  the 
conversation,  the  feeling  that  the  absent  one 
had  returned  to  his  home,  prolonged  the  charm, 
and  gave  to  it  an  interest  which  can  only  be  felt 


1^  THE  CHEERFUL  HEART. 

under  similar  circumstances.  But  we  will  follow 
Charles  Afton  on  his  homeward  way  ;  we  must 
quicken  our  pace,  for  he  is  so  anxious  to  see  the 
beloved  ones  that  he  allows  no  obstacle  to  de- 
tain him.  But  with  how  much  surprise  he  looks 
upon  the  pretty  white  cottage  which  has  taken 
the  place  of  his  former  home.  The  young  man 
rubbed  his  eyes,  believing  that  he  was  under  the 
influence  of  a  delusion.  Still  the  neat  cottage 
remained  where  the  old  brown  one  had  stood. 
There  were  the  tall  elms  under  which  he  had  so 
frequently  played  ;  the  flowers  and  shrubs  were 
in  their  old  places,  only  there  were  many  more 
of  them.  He  could  not  have  mistaken  the  spot, 
for  there,  on  the  east,  was  the  lofty  hill,  its  sides 
still  clothed  yith  verdure,  and  shaded  by  the 
pines,  the  same  pines  whose  music  he  had  in  his 
boyhood  imagined  to  be  made  by  angel  fingers 
stirring  their  leaves.  He  approached  the  case- 
ment ;  a  corner  of  one  of  the  curtains  had  acci- 
dentally been  left  up  ;  he  peeped  in,  and  now  he 
was  sure  that  all  was  right,  for  at  a  table  on 


THE  HERMIT.  121 

which  a  book  was  laid  sat  his  father,  who  had 
apparently  just  left  off  reading  ;  his  mother  was 
on  the  opposite  side,  looking  in  good  health,  and 
appearing  to  be  very  happy.  But,  hark!  she 
speaks. 

"  No  Charley  to-night,  I  fear,  for  it  is  now 
quite  dark,  and  the  stage  arrives  by  eight 
o'clock.  I  trust  no  accident  has  happened  ; 
but  how  dark  it  is ! "  said  she,  approaching^  a 
window.  "  I  fear  we  shall  have  a  storm.  He 
is  in  the  hands  of  his  heavenly  Father,  however, 
and  he  will  care  for  him  ;  "  and  with  a  resigned 
air  Mrs.  Afton  resumed  her  knitting. 

"  I  think  he  will  be  here  yet,  Mary,"  said  Mr. 
Afton.  "  You  know  he  wrote  us  that  he  should, 
and  he  always  does  as  he  says,  unless  he  has  a 
good  reason  for  changing  his  plans.  True,  it  is 
late,  but  he  would  have  to  stop  to  answer  Mrs. 
Burton's  and  Mr.  Crawford's  questions,  you 
know  ;   so  don't  be  anxious." 

"  I  wonder  what  he  will  say  to  the  new  house, 
and  whether  he  will  think  the  garden  has  im- 
11 


122  THE  CHEERFUL  HEART. 

proved.  I  am  impatient  to  hear  his  opinion, 
and  to  look  at  his  face  as  he  approaches  it. 
The  moon  was  out  a  short  time  since,  but  it  has 
clouded  up,  so  that  he  could  not  see  the  change. 
If  he  comes  no^7  to-night,  he  will  go  round  where 
the  doopused  to  be  in  the  old  house,  and  will 
run  into  the  rosebush.  Had  we  not  better  hang 
the  lantern  against  it,  and  save  him  from  scratch- 
ing himself?" 

"  Yes,  I  will  get  it  immediately,  Mary.  Your 
woman's  thoughtfulness  never  forsakes  you  ;  but 
I  had  quite  forgotten  the  thorns." 

As  Mr.  Afton  went  to  the  door,  he  was  re- 
ceived, into  a  pair  of  young,  strong  arms,  and  a 
cheerful  voice  said,  — 

"  Don't  trouble  yourself,  father  ;  I  found  where 
the  door  was  before  the  moon  concealed  herself 
behind  the  mountains  ;  but  if  she  had  not  lent 
me  her  friendly  light,  I  should  certainly  have 
sought  for  it  in  the  old  place ;  but  as  I  could 
scarcely  believe  my  eyesight,  I  have  been  loiter- 
ing about  here  for  half  an  hour,  trying  to  learn 


THE  HERMIT.  123 

whether  I  had  really  got  home  or  not,  and  have 
only  just  come  to  the  conclusion  that  all  is  right 
by  hearing  you  and  mother  talking  about  me." 

"  Come  in,  my  boy ;  we  rejoice  to  see  you. 
Your  mother  had  almost  come  to  the  conclusion 
that  you  must  have  met  with  some  accident ;  but 
thank  God,  you  are  safe.  I  had  some  fears  my- 
self, but  I  did  not  mean  that  she  should  kn»w  of 
them." 

"  Mother,"  said  Charles,  as  he  stepped  softly 
behind  her  chair,  "  here  I  am  returned  to  you. 
through  the  blessing  of  Heaven,  and  I  am  glad 
to  find  you  so  well  and  happy." 

Up  started  Mrs.  Afton,  with  all  the  mother 
beaming  in  her  face,  and  for  a  few  moments 
the  parent  and  child  were  locked  in  a  fast 
embrace. 

"  I  am  so  happy  to  see  you  again,  my  child. 
I  hftve  expected  you  so  impatiently  ;  we  are  and 
have  been  happy,  but  I  was  anxious  that  you, 
too,  should  enjoy  our  good  fortune.  Since  you 
went  to  H.,  my  uncle,  who  has  been  so  long  ab- 


124  THE   CHEERFUL  HEART. 

Bent,  has  left  me  some  property,  and  we  are  now 
entirely  above  want.  I  rejoice  at  this,  as  your 
father  will  not  have  to  work  so  hard,  and  you 
will  not  be  obliged  to  keep  school  during  your 
vacations  unless  you  wish;  we  have  also  been 
able  to  build  this  new  house,  which  is  so  conve- 
nient and  pretty  that  we  think  you  will  like  it. 
I  shooild  have  written  you  of  this,  but  your  father 
and  Mr.  Crawford  thought  it  would  be  such  a 
pleasant  surprise  to  you  to  find  it  all  completed 
when  you  returned  ;  so  we  resolved  to  keep  the 
secret,  though  it  has  been  a  difficult  matter  for 
us  to  do  it.  The  carpenters  have  hurried  them- 
selves to  the  utmost,  and  Mr.  Crawford,  Robert, 
and  young  Thornton  have  assisted  a  great  deal 
about  the  garden,  so  that  it  might  be  in  order 
against  your  return.  It  really  looks  finely, 
thanks  to  their  efforts  and  good  taste,  and  I  am 
sure  you  will  like  the  arrangements." 

"  Without  doubt,  mother  ;  but  how  kind  all  ^ 
are  to  me !    I  feel  truly  grateful  to  each  of 
them." 


THE  HERMIT.  125 

"  We  have  preserved  a  great  many  of  your 
favorite  lilies  of  the  valley,  at  Miss  Netty's 
suggestion.  She  comes  to  read  to  me  almost 
every  day,  and  frequently  rides  over  with  the 
pony  chaise,  with  a  request  from  her  mother  for 
me  to  pass  the  day  with  her  ;  and  I  am  so  happy 
with  Mrs.  Burton  and  her  sweet  child,  for  she  is 
exactly  like  Arthur,  and  but  for  her  I  should 
have  missed  his  reading  exceedingly,  as  my  eye- 
sight is  quite  poor  now.  But  I  need  not  praise 
Netty  to  one  who  knows  her  so  well  as  you 
must,  having  seen  so  much  of  her  when  studying 
with  Arthur." 

What  makes  the  young  student  start  up  and 
go  to  the  window  just  at  this  moment,  without 
replying  to  his  parent's  remarks  ?  Is  he  partic- 
ularly desirous  of  watching  the  clouds,  or  is  it 
to  conceal  his  face  from  the  penetrating  glance 
of  a  mother's  eye  ?  We  will  leave  the  reader 
•to  guess,  and  if  he  cannot,  why,  we  will,  perhaps, 
tell  him  at  the  proper  time,  but  not  now. 
11* 


126  THE  CHEEEFUL  HEART. 

In  a  few  moments  Charles  returned  to  his 
seat  and  remarked, — 

"I  cannot  thank  my  friends  enough,  dear 
mother,  but  I  am  sensible  of  their  goodness,  and 
will,  if  possible,  manifest  my  gratitude." 

"They  are  aware  of  that,  Charles,  and  enjoy 
doing  you  a  kindness  as  much  as  you  would 
delight  in  benefiting  them ;  so  you  understand 
each  other." 

The  morning  sun  rose  bright  after  the  storm  of 
the  night  before,  and  as  Charles  walked  about 
his  father's  garden,  every  thing  seemed  so  fresh 
and  beautiful,  that  it  appeared  to  him  that  he 
had  never  looked  upon  so  lovely  a  place  as  the 
Valley  of  Daisies,  and  that  no  people  could  be 
happier  than  its  inhabitants. 

"  Here  let  me  live,  here  let  me  die,"  said  he, 
"  for  here  alone  my  heart  can  know  that  peace 
which  will  insure  its  happiness." 

He  was  delighted  with  all  the  arrangements 
which  had  been  made  during  his  absence  ;  yet  as 


THE   HERMIT.  127 

he  wandered  towards  the  cluster  of  lilies  of  the 
valley,  and  bent  over  them,  he  heaved  a  deep 
sigh,  and  said, — 

"  It  can  never  be ;  I  must  conquer  this,  and 
remember  that  there  is  much  for  me  to  do ;  my 
books  must  be  my  companions,  and  I  must  de- 
vote myself  to  them,  without  even  hoping  for  a 
nearer  and  dearer  tie."  Yet  a  faint  hope  still 
lingered  in  his  heart,  and  as  he  placed  a  stalk 
of  lilies  in  his  vest,  he  could  not  avoid  saying, 
"  Who  knows,  who  knows  what  may  come  ?  " 


128         THE  CHEEEFUL  HEART. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

CONCLUSION. 

"  There's  nac  place  like  our  ain  home ; 

O,  I  wish  that  I  was  there  ! 
There's  nae  home  like  oiir  ain  home, 

To  be  met  wi'  any  where ! 
And  0  that  I  were  back  again 

'Mid  a'  our  flowers  sae  green, 
An'  heard  the  sang  o'  my  ain  ones, 

An'  was  what  I  hae  been !  " 

"  Sister,  forget  you  the  home  of  our  youth, 
Where  we  first  lisped  prayers  of  hope,  of  truth  ; 
"Where  the  wild  flowers  \^Teathed  our  cottage  o'ct, 
And  the  fields  their  brightest  colors  wore  ; 
Where  the  blithe  birds'  sweetest  murmur  awoke, 
In  the  waving  boughs  of  our  own  loved  oak  ? 
That,  that  is  our  home." 

Swiftly  sped  the  vacation,  amid  the  sunny- 
smiles  of  friends  and  all  the  charms  which  home 
could  offer  to  our  young  students.  Pleasant 
were  the  walks  which  they  took  among  those 


CONCLUSION.  129 

old  trees,  every  brancli  of  which  seemed  familiar 
to  them.  The  clear,  rippling  brook  laughed  on 
in  its  gladness,  uttering  such  music  as  the  friends 
declared  none  other  could  send  forth.  Those 
were  joyous  hours,  and  there  were  glad  hearts 
around  those  cottage  hearthstones.  The  part- 
ing hour,  however,  came  at  last,  and  again 
Charles  and  Arthur  took  their  seats  in  the  same 
stage  coach  which  had  before  conveyed  them 
to  H. 

Years  passed  on,  and  but  few  changes  took 
place  in  the  valley.  The  widow  Law  ton  was 
called  to  her  rest  just  before  the  young  men 
graduated.  She  was  gathered  like  "  a  shock  of 
corn  fully  ripe ; "  "  she  died  calmly,  for  slie  had 
heaven  in  view."  Mrs.  Burton  was  with  her 
when  she  passed  away  from  earth,  and  so  sweet- 
ly did  the  lone  widow  fall  asleep,  that  her  death 
was  scarcely  perceptible.  Many  mourned  her 
departure,  for  to  many  had  she  been  the  sympa- 
thizing friend  and  the  efficient  comforter.  Her 
home  and  her  purse  were  ever  open  to  the 


130  THE   CHEERFUL   HEART. 

unfortunate,  and  sadly  will  she  be  missed  by  the 
widow  and  the  fatherless.  There  are  warm 
hearts  still  in  the  valley,  however,  who  will  do 
all  in  their  power  to  supply  her  place.  They 
laid  her  remains  by  the  side  of  her  child,  in  a 
lovely  spot,  where  the  winds  of  evening  whisper 
a  sweet  requiem  'mid  the  pines  which  she  and 
her  daughter  so  loved  while  on  earth. 

"  'Twas  sorrow  that  blanched  her  cheek 
And  clouded  her  gentle  brow, 
And  she  faded,  the  good  and  the  meek ; 
She  is  free  from  all  suffering  now." 

Goody  Blake  had  also  departed  to  a  happier 
home,  with  almost  her  last  breath  uttering  a 
message  of  love  for  her  favorite,  whom  she  was 
very  desirous  of  seeing  ;  but  she  said,  "  Dear  boy, 
we  shall  meet  in  heaven,  where  the  shrivelled 
hand  which  he  has  so  often  grasped  on  earth 
will  be  changed,  as  I  shall  there  put  on  a  more 
glorious  body." 

It  had  been  unusually  healthy  in  the  valley 
for  the  year,  and  Annette  wrote  to  Arthur,  — 


CONCLUSION.  131 

"All  is  as  when  you  left;  the 'dark  messen- 
ger' has  kept  aloof  from  our  valley,  and  health 
and  happiness  seem  every  where  to  prevail. 
Mr.  Crawford  has  constant  applications  for  ad- 
mission to  his  school  which  he  is  obliged  to 
refuse.  He  was  here  last  evening,  and  was  so 
delightful  in  conversation  that  the  hours  passed 
like  minutes.  Since  his  eyesight  was  restored, 
he  is  a  different  man ;  previous  to  that,  you 
know,  he  was  at  times  quite  reserved  ;  but  now 
he  is  the  most  cheerful,  animated  person  I  ever 
saw.  Nothing  is  too  small  or  too  inferior  for 
him  to  notice,  and  he  sees  beauties  in  every 
thing,  from  the  tiniest  flower  to  the  noble  oak 
which  seems  to  pierce  the  skies.  '  Sadness,' 
said  he  to  me  the  other  day,  'sadness  should 
never  dwell  in  the  heart  of  any  one  whom 
God  has  placed  upon  this  beautiful  earth ;  if 
he  -will  only  seek  it,  there  is  joy  every  where. 
Even  the  loss  of  friends,  if  viewed  in  its  prop- 
er light,  is  cause  for  rejoicing  ;  for  have  they 
not  gone  home,  where  sorrow  never  comes,  and 


132        THE  CHEERFUL  HEART. 

where  flowers  immortal  bloom,  fadeless,  and  O 
how  fair !  how  gloriously  tinted !  In  my  dreams 
I  see  them  and  walk  among  them,  inhaling  their 
fragrance  and  watching  their  development.' 
There  is  a  freshness  and  beauty  in  Mr.  Craw- 
ford's thoughts  which  I  have  never  observed 
before.  His  pupils  arc  much  attached  to  him, 
and  we  hear  golden  opinions  of  his  school  from 
all  quarters. 

"  Cyril  Thornton  has  decided,  as  you  supposed 
he  would,  to  become  a  lawyer,  and  he  is  so  con- 
scientious that  we  have  no  doubt  he  will  be  an 
honest  one  ;  he  will  reside  in  the  city,  for  he 
could  hardly  find  any  thing  to  do  in  our  valley. 
Dr.  Lawrence  was  here  yesterday  to  inquire  for 
you  under  his  favorite  name,  Cheerful  Heart. 
'  Tell  him  from  me,'  said  he,  '  that  he  must  not 
make  up  his  mind  with  regard  to  a  profession 
until  he  sees  me,  as  I  am  determined  that  he 
shall  take  my  place,  for  I  am  now  too  old  to 
practise,  and  the  villagers  will  have  nobody 
else  unless  Arthur  will  turn  doctor.     Strange 


CONCLUSION.  133 

that  they  should  fancy  me,  but  there  is  no  ac- 
counting for  tastes.'  Little  Netty  Thornton, 
my  namesake,  has  taken  the  place  on  earth 
of  the  sweet  Sophia  in  heaven,  and  bids  fair 
to  resemble  her  sister  in  person  and  mind. 
Tell  Charles  that  mother  sends  her  love,  and 
hopes  he  will  not  change  his  mind  with  re- 
gard to  his  choice  of  a  profession.  Old  Dr. 
Landon,  our  minister,  fails  rapidly,  and  would 
be  glad  of  a  colleague  ;  and  he  told  mother,  the 
other  day,  that  it  was  the  earnest  desire  of  his 
heart,  that  Charles  should  take  his  place  when 
he  slept  with  his  fathers.  I  write  this,  my  dear 
Arthur,  at  mother's  request.  Mrs.  Afton  is  well, 
and  sends  much  love  to  you  both.  She  wishes 
me  to  say,  that  Charles's  rosebush  is  now  full 
of  buds  and  blossoms.  But  what  a  long  letter 
I  am  writing !  but  you,  I  know,  will  not  weary 
of  it,  as  it  is  from  your  affectionate  sister. 

"Monday,  9th.    I  again  open  my  letter,  my 
dear  Arthur,  to  tell  you  the  good  news.    We 
have  just  received  a  letter  from  grandmother 
12 


134  THE  CHEERFUL  HEART. 

Ladoni,  which  says  that  she  has  lost  her  old  and 
faithful  servant,  and  wishes  to  die  in  the  arms 
of  her  child  ;  and  notwithstanding  her  years,  she 
will  take  passage  in  the  next  vessel  which  comes 
to  D.,  and  in  a  few  months  we  may  hope  to  see 
her.  Mother  is  so  happy  at  this  unexpected 
news,  that  tears  of  joy  are  now  streaming  down 
h"er  cheeks  as  I  read  the  letter  to  her.  Only 
two  weeks  more  and  you  will  be  with  us,  and 
then  for  delightful  walks  and  heart-commun- 
ings.    Adieu.  Netty." 

From  Annette's  letter  our  readers  will  learn 
much  that  had  taken  place  in  the  valley,  during 
Arthur's  absence.  The  young  men  returned  at 
the  expected  time,  and  were  received  with  a  de- 
light which  was  not  to  be  damped  by  the  pros- 
pect of  their  again  being  so  long  away  from 
home.  Arthur,  after  thinking  over  the  matter, 
and.  finding  that  it  would  fully  coincide  with 
the  wishes  of  his  friends,  decided  to  study  with 
Dr.  Lawrence,  and  to  attend  medical  lectures 


CONCLUSION.  135 

at  D. ;  this  would  preclude  the  necessity  of  his 
boarding  away  from  his  loved  home  in  the  val- 
ley, which  had  become,  if  possible,  more  dear 
to  him  than  ever.  When  the  villagers  learned 
that  he  was  about  preparing  to  take  Dr.  Law- 
rence's place,  they  were  reconciled  to  that  gen- 
tleman's retiring  from  his  labors,  particularly 
as  he  promised  always  to  consult  with  his  favor- 
ite, Arthur,  as  long  as  he  retained  his  faculties. 
Charles's  choice  is  also  made,  and  the  announce- 
ment of  it  is  received  by  his  friends  with  almost 
as  much  joy  as  was  the  decision  of  Arthur. 
"  Who,"  said  they,  "  is  so  well  fitted  to  break  to 
us  the  bread  of  life  as  one  who  was  born  among 
us,  and  who  has  been  with  us  in  joy  and  in  sor- 
row ? ''  And  truly,  Charles  had  chosen  wisely,  for 
few  were  better  calculated  to  fill  the  responsible 
ofl&cc  of  teacher  to  the  flock  in  the  valley.  When 
his  mother  learned  his  decision,  tears  flowed 
down  her  cheeks ;  and  as  she  affectionately 
clasped  him  to  her  heart,  she  said,  "  0  my  son, 
this  is  what  I  have  so  ardently  prayed  for,  and 


136  THE   CHEERFUL  HEART. 

you  have  made  my  heart  to  sing  for  joy."  At 
first  Charles  had  had  some  doubts  with  regard 
to  his  choice ;  but  as  soon  as  it  was  made,  these 
all  disappeared,  and  cheerfully  he  commenced 
his  preparation,  and  ardently  he  pursued  his 
theological  studies,  feeling  anxious  to  begin  the 
work  which  he  felt  assured  it  was  appointed 
him  on  High  to  do.  There  was  a  theological 
seminary  only  a  few  miles  from  his  home,  so  that 
he  was  enabled  to  spend  most  of  his  nights  at 
his  father's  ;  the  walk  was  a  delightful  recrea- 
tion to  him,  and  was  conducive  to  the  health  of 
his  body  as  well  as  to  that  of  his  mind.  His 
course  through  the  seminary  was  very  pleasant ; 
and  having  won  golden  opinions  from  the  fathers 
in  the  ministry,  he  commenced  his  work.  He 
received  a  unanimous  call,  and  was  ordained 
over  the  society  which  the  aged  and  excel- 
lent Dr.  Landon  delightedly  vacated  in  his 
behalf. 

"  I  leave  in  my  place,"  said  he  to  his  people, 
"  one  every  way  worthy  and  competent  to  fill  it. 


CONCLUSION.  137 

His  heart  is  in  Ms  work,  and  he  will,  I  am 
assured,  do  it  well.  God  has  called  him  to  the 
ministry,  and  he  will  teach  him  how  to  dispense 
the  word  to  his  people  :  if  you  receive  it  aright, 
his  blessing  will  follow :  therefore  look  to  it 
that  ye  hold  up  your  pastor's  hands." 

It  was  spring,  that  season  of  bright  skies  and 
blossoming  trees,  when  the  soft  green  grass  lifts 
itself  above  the  ground  which  has  so  long  been 
covered  with  its  snowy  mantle,  when  the  sweet 
violet,  one  of  Nature's  favorites,  raises  its  per- 
fumed blossom  above  the  dark  earth  ;  that  sea- 
son when  the  melodies  of  the  birds  are  so 
sweet,  and  when  the  whole  earth  is  robed  in 
beiauty  and  freshness.  It  is  May,  and  the  pas- 
tor is  about  taking  possession  of  the  home 
which  his  people  have  provided  for  him ;  and 
0,  how  pretty  it  is !  with  its  simple  and  un- 
pretending style  of  architecture.  It  is  not  a 
cottage,  for  the  inhabitants  of  the  valley  are 
beginning  to  think  that  good  chambers  are  a 
matter  of  much  importance,  for  their  physician 
12* 


138  THE   CHEERFUL  HEART. 

has  told  them  so  ;  and  as  high  chambers  are  more 
beneficial  to  health  than  low  ones,  of  course  the 
pastor's  home  must  be  made  as  comfortable  as 
possible.  "  For  surely,"  said  one  of  his  deacons, 
"  we  wish  to  keep  him  in  good  health,  for  then 
he  can  perform  his  duties  better  ;  and  who  minds 
the  little  difference  in  the  cost  when  it  is  for  one 
we  love  so'well?"  So  the  parsonage  was  built 
two  stories  in  height.  It  was  placed  in  a  shel- 
tered nook,  which  some  one  had  heard  the  pas- 
tor say,  one  day,  was  just  the  loveliest  spot  in 
the  valley,  and  as  he  loved  trees  so  well,  not  one 
of  the  natural  growth  had  been  felled.  Choice 
flowers  were  scattered  here  and  there,  not  for- 
getting his  favorite  lily  of  the  valley.  Eoses 
and  climbing  vines  were  trained  over  the  piazza, 
and,  in  short,  "  nothing,"  as  Charles  said,  "  which 
affection  could  bring  or  taste  suggest  was  for- 
gotten." And,  truly,  that  parsonage  would  have 
attracted  the  attention  of  even  the  most  indif- 
ferent passer  by,  and  would  have  given  him  a 
favorable  opinion  of  both  minister  and  people. 


CONCLUSION.  139 

But  the  arrangements  at  the  parsonage,  perfect 
as  they  seem  to  be,  are  not  yet  quite  complete. 
"  What  can  be  wanting  ?  "  perhaps  some  reader 
•will  say ;  and  we  will  answer  their  question  by 
asking  another.  "  What  is  a  parsonage  without 
a  mistress  ?  and  what  can  a  young  minister  do 
without  a  helpmate  to  assist  him  in  every  good 
word  and  work  ?  "  This  question  ha^becn  agi- 
tated in  another  quarter,  and  that  kind  friend 
who  has  been  a  second  mother  to  Charles  has 
put  it  directly  to  him.  With  a  mother's  quick 
perception,  she  long  ago  penetrated  her  daugh- 
ter's secret,  and  realizing  the  feelings  of  Charles, 
who  was  so  modest  and  humble  that  he  feared 
to  ask  for  Annette's  hand,  lest  he  should  meet 
with  a  refusal,  Mrs.  Burton,  with  much  deli- 
cacy, led  her  young  friend  to  open  his  heart  to 
her,  and  with  Arthur's  full  approbation  and  the 
blessing  of  the  parents  on  both  sides,  Annette 
and  Charles  plighted  their  troth  to  each  other. 

"Take  her,  Charles,"  said  Mrs.  Burton  ;  "I  do 
not  fear  to  trust  you.    She  is  young,  but  she 


140  THE  CHEERFUL  HEART. 

is,  I  liope,  a  cheerful,  earnest  Christian.  She 
will  not  start  back  from  the  trials  which  are 
the  lot  of  all  in  this  life,  but  will  uncomplain- 
ingly bear  them  with  you." 

"  0,  how  much  do  I  owe  you,  my  second  moth- 
er !  "  said  Charles  :  "  although  words  are  inade- 
quate to  express  my  feelings,  yet  my  future  con- 
duct willfl  trust,  prove  how  much  I  prize  the 
treasure  you  have  confided  to  my  care." 

It  was  a  lovely  day  in  June,  bright,  leafy 
June,  when  Charles  and  Annette  knelt  in  front 
of  the  altar  in  the  church  of  which  the  venerable 
and  excellent  Dr.  Landon  had  so  long  been  the 
pastor,  to  pronounce  their  nuptial  vows.  The 
depth  of  feeling  with  which  the  aged  clergyman 
spoke,  as  he  repeated,  "What  God  has  joined 
together  let  not  man  put  asunder,"  caused  many 
a  tear  to  fall  from  eyes  all  unused  to  weep  ;  and 
as  the  sweet  bride  turned  from  the  altar,  leaning 
upon  the  arm  of.him  whom  she  had  chosen,  many 
a  hand  was  held  out  to  grasp  hers,  and  many  a 
silent  blessing  was  bestowed  from  warm  hearts 


"'**, 


CONCLUSION.  141 

upon  herself  and  husband.  The  pretty  parson- 
age is  no  longer  without  a  mistress,  or  the  young 
minister  without  a  wife  ;  so  the  wishes  of  kind 
friends  in  this  respect  are  fulfilled.  Annette  is 
delighted  with  all  the  arrangements,  and  her 
heart  overflows  with  regard  for  a  people  who 
have  so  generously  ministered  to  the  every  wish 
and  need  of  their  pastor  and  his  wife.  ^ 

"It  appears,  dear  Charles,"  said  the  young 
wife,  as  she  looked  at  the  garden,  laid  out  with 
so  much  taste,  and  at  the  house,  so  convenient 
and  pretty,  "  as  if  they  had  known  exactly  what 
we  liked,  and  had  determined  that  no  desire 
should  be  ungratified." 

Years  wore  away,  and  they  were  happy  years 
in  the  Valley  of  Daisies.  Charles  Afton's  peo- 
ple had  not  been  disappointed  in  their  (Jllosen 
pastor,  and  he  was  "  not  without  honor  even  in 
his  own  country,"  although  but  little  knowledge 
of  his  excellence  had  reached  the  world  beyond. 
His  character  was  fully  appreciated  by  his  be- 
loved parishioners  and  by  his  own  family.     To 


142         THE  CHEERFUL  HEABT. 

live  within  the  sphere  of  such  a  man's  influence, 
and  to  witness  the  constant  exercise  of  his  vir- 
tues, is,  indeed,  a  privilege,  and  his  people  felt  it 
as  such.  His  heart  was  entirely  devoted  to  the 
faithful  discharge  of  his  duties.  His  messages 
from  the  sacred  desk  were  full  of  earnestness 
and  power,  and  the  deep  love  for  them  evidenced 
in  his  vo%e  and  manner,  when  he  exhorted  his 
people  to  persevere  in  the  paths  of  peace,  evinced 
how  ardently  he  desired  what  would  be  for  their 
best  good.  He  visited  among  them  frequently, 
and  whenever  he  came,  the  joy  manifested  by 
parents  and  children  showed  that  they  both 
respected  and  loved  him.  Annette  proved  her- 
self every  way  worthy  to  be,  as  she  was,  the 
cherished  companion  of  such  a  man.  She  entered 
with  interest  into  all  his  feelings  and  pursuits, 
and  by  the  kindness  prompted  by  the  dictates 
of  her  own  gentle  heart,  she  won  the  love  of  all 
her  Jiusband's  parishioners.  No  child  in  the 
valley  that  did  not  take  delight  in  a  call  from 
their  pastor's  wife,  for  she  listened  patiently  to 


CONCLUSION.  143 

their  little  trials,  and  pointed  out  the  remedy  in 
a  manner  adapted  to  their  comprehension. 

But  to  return  to  our  friends  at  the  cottage. 
Arthur  (or  the  doctor,  as  we  must  now  call  him, 
for  he  has  taken  his  degree  some  months  since, 
and  is  in  full  practice)  is  just  at  this  time  intent- 
ly engaged,  every  moment  which  he  can  spare, 
in  overseeing  the  building  of  quite  an  extensive 
addition  to  his  mother's  cottage,  which  is  in 
future  to  be  only  an  L  to  the  main  building. 
The  old  doctor  comes  over  every  day,  and  ap- 
pears to  be  as  much  interested  in  what  is  going 
on  as  his  friend.  Cheerful  Heart.  And  now  he 
is  giving  directions  as  if  he  really  had  aright 
to  a  voice  in  the  matter ;  and  if  we  observe  still 
closer,  we  shall  see  that  the  carpenters  follow 
his  directions,  while  the  young  M.  D.  loo^s  on 
smilingly  and  approvingly,  as  if  quite  satisfied 
that  all  will  be  right.  There  certainly  is  a  mys- 
tery in  this,  which  we  will  try  to  solve  for  the 
benefit  of  our  readers,  who  probably  have  some 
curiosity  with  regard  to  the  affair.     Well,  in 


144  THE   CHEERFUL  HEART. 

order  to  do  tliis,  we  must  take  you,  gentle  ques- 
tioner, into  Mrs.  Burton's  parlor  for  a  few  mo- 
ments ;  we  will  not  detain  you  long,  only  to 
introduce  you  to  a  young  dark-eyed  lady,  with 
whose  raven  curls  a  little  chubby-faced  girl  is 
playing,  who  calls  Annette  Afton  mother.  Now, 
this  young  lady  with  the  curls  bears  a  very 
striking  resemblance  to  Dr.  Lawrence ;  and  if 
you  observe,  you  will  hear  her  call  that  gentle- 
man father,  as  she  affectionately  leans  upon  his 
arm,  and  goes  out  with  him  to  look  at  the  prog- 
ress of  the  new  building.  But  why  does  the 
rich  color  deepen  in  her  cheek,  and  the  light 
brighten  in  her  eye,  as  young  Dr.  Burton  ap- 
proaches ?  Ah !  you  have  guessed  our  secret, 
we  think ;  but  if  not,  we  will  tell  you  what 
it  is.  In  his  frequent  visits  to  the  doctor's, 
Arthur  had  learned  more  than  was  in  his  medi- 
cal books  ;  he  had  learned  to  love  the  daughter 
of  his  respected  friend,  and  the  good  doctor  had 
readily  acquiesced  in  an  arrangement  which 
would  unite  the  two  whom  he  loved  best  on 


CONCLUSION.  145 

earth  ;  and  this  is  why  he  is  building  "  a  cage 
for  his  birds,"  as  he  calls  the  house,  which  he 
insisted  upon  erecting  for  his  Mary  and  Arthur 
to  dwell  in ;  and  as  Mrs.  Burton's  house  is  not 
large  enough  for  all,  and  she  wishes  to  have 
her  son  with  her,  they  are  to  occupy  the  new 
home  together.  One  evening,  just  as  the  house 
was  finished  and  furnished  in  accordance  with 
the  taste  of  the  gentle  being  who  is  soon  to  be 
its  mistress,  and  who  in  her  own  glad  tones, 
whose  music  thrills  the  heart  of  the  chosen  one 
on  whose  arm  she  is  leaning,  is  saying,  "All 
is  perfect,  dear  father,  and  you,  Arthur,  Jiave 
forgotten  nothing,"  she  is  interrupted  by  the 
rattling  of  the  stage  coach  up  the  quiet  street. 

"  Who  can  have  come,  Arthur  ? "  said  she. 
"  Are  you  expecting  any  one  at  this  time  ?  " 

"No,  Mary;  but  doubtless  it  is  some  friend 
whom  we  shall  welcome  to  our  bridal." 

"  That  is  to  be  a  very  quiet  affair,  you  know, 
Arthur,  as  I  dislike  bustle  and  confusion  at  such 
times,  and  I  have  your  promise  and  your  moth- 
13 


146  THE   CHEERFUL  HEART. 

er's  that  none  but  our  friends  in  the  valley  shall 
"be  present." 

"  As  you  will,  Mary  ;  but  let  us  sec  who  has 
arrived." 

As  they  entered  the  parlor,  they  saw  before 
them  a  lady  of  dignified  and  commanding  bear- 
ing, clasped  in  Mrs.  Burton's  arms.  She  was 
about  sixty  years  of  age,  but  her  fine  figure  was 
still  unbent,  and  the  fire  of  her  dark  eye  still 
unquenched.  There  was  firmness  expressed  in 
her  small  mouth,  but  there  was  a  world  of  love 
in  the  whole  face,  which  at  once  took  the  heart 
captive,  and  won  the  regard  of  all  on  whom  she 
chose  to  bestow  her  smiles. 

"This  is,  this  must  be  our  dear  grandmother, 
whom  we  have  so  long  expected,  and  for  whose 
coming  we  have  so  ardently  longed,"  said  Ar- 
thur. "  Welcome,  thrice  welcome,  to  our  homes 
and  hearts ;  equally  welcome  in  each  of  them, 
dear  grandmother.  You  have  arrived  at  just 
the  right  moment,  and  our  timid  Mary  will  not 
object,  I  am  sure,  to  your  being  present  when 


CONCLUSION.  147 

another  will  have  the  right  to  call  you  pa- 
rent." 

Madam  Ladoni  —  for  it  was  she  —  arose  and 
embraced  her  grandson  and  the  blushing  being 
by  his  side,  and  with  tones  whose  melody  was 
not  injured  by  a  slight  foreign  accent,  re- 
sponded with  great  affection  to  Arthur's  words. 

"  And  this,  then,  is  Arthur ;  but  you  are  no 
stranger  to  me,  my  child,  for  your  mother's  let- 
ters and  your  own  have  made  me  acquainted 
with  your  inner  self.  But  where  is  Annette, 
the  sweet  childlike  girl,  whose  purity  of  feeling 
spoke  in  every  line  of  her  welcome  letters  ?  " 

"  She  will  be  here  immediately,  dear  mother, 
with  her  husband  and  child.  We  have  sent  for 
her,  and  she  will  come  on  the  wings  of  love  to 
see  you,  for  much  she  has  wept  the  'hope  de- 
ferred '  of  your  coming,  and  anxiously  has  she 
studied  the  papers  to  find  some  cause  for  the 
detention  of  the  vessel  in  which  you  were  to 
sail." 

"  You  received  my  letter,  of  course,  and  that 


148         THE  CHEERFUL  HEART. 

solved  the  mystery  of  our  not  comiDg,"  said 
Madam  Ladoni. 

"  No,  mother,"  replied  Mrs.  Burton,  "  we  have 
not  heard  from  you  for  long  weeks,  and  have 
been  extremely  anxious  ;  Arthur  has  made  every 
inquiry  in  his  power  with  regard  to  the  vessel 
in  which  you  were  to  take  passage,  and  his 
cheering  words  alone  prevented  me  from  being 
really  unhappy  on  your  account.  He  always 
sees  a  'silver  lining  to  every  cloud,'  however, 
and  possesses  the  power,  as  I  have  so  often 
written  you,  of  imparting  his  hopefulness  to  all 
around  him." 

"I  see,"  said  Madam  Ladoni,  "that  I  must, 
then,  as  this  is  the  case,  render  an  account  of 
myself ;  and  I  will  not  keep  you  longer  in  sus- 
pense. "We  sailed  at  the  time  I  wrote  you. 
For  several  days  we  had  fine  weather,  and  got 
on  charmingly  ;  but  a  storm  arose,  and  we  were 
in  great  danger ;  but  fortunately  we  were  able 
to  get  into  a  port,  from  whence  I  wrote  you, 
and  as  there  was  no  other  vessel  to  sail  for  the 


CONCLUSION.  149 

season,  and  winter  was  approaching,  I  decided 
to  remain  there  until  the  vessel  was  repaired, 
or  another  should  start  for  this  country.  As  I 
had  written  you  the  particulars  of  our  detention, 
I  did  not  apprehend  that  you  would  be  anxious, 
and  therefore  felt  no  fears  on  your  account." 

"I  am  glad,  dear  mother,  that  we  did  not 
receive  the  letter,  for  I  should  have  been  in  a 
constant  state  of  alarm,  as  we  have  had  such 
severe  storms  the  past  season,  and  so  many  ves- 
sels have  been  lost.  But,  thank  Heaven,  you 
are  with  us  now,  never  more  to  leave  us.  But 
here  are  Annette  and  Charles,  with  their  little 
one." 

0,  those  were  joyous  days  in  the  valley,  not 
only  to  those  immediately  concerned,  but  all 
the  villagers  rejoiced  in  the  happiness  of  those 
whom  they  loved  so  well,  and  grandmother 
Ladoni  very  soon  felt  perfectly  at  home  in  their 
midst,  declaring  that  she  was  willing  to  end  her 
days  in  the  loveliest  spot  on  earth  next  to  her 
13* 


150  THE   CHEERFUL  HEART. 

own  Italy,  and  by  the  side  of  her  own  glorious 
Bay  of  Naples. 

In  one  week  after  Madam  Ladoni's  arrival, 
Arthur  was  married  to  the  bride  of  his  choice, 
and  all  said,  as  they  looked  upon  her  bright,  pure 
face,  that  she  <was  a  fit  companion  even  for  their 
doctor,  and  would  with  him  always  find  a  '  silver 
lining  to  every  cloud ; '  and  so  it  proved,  for 
during  the  long  life  which  she  spent  with  him  in 
their  midst,  she  was  a  very  angel  to  her  husband, 
and  she  had  not  an  enemy  or  a  cold  friend  in 
the  world.  And  here  we  must  leave  them,  hap- 
py in  each  other,  and  sympathizing  in  every  good 
word  and  work. 

Once  more  Mrs.  Burton  was  called  to  mourn  ; 
once  more  the  family  tomb  in  the  cemetery  was 
opened  to  receive  a  beloved  friend  ;  but  — 

"  That  was  a  mother's  grave  ;  weep  not  for  her ; 
She  has  a  rich  reward  in  heaven.    She  sank 
Honored  and  full  of  years.    And  many  friends 
Stood  round  her  grave ;  and  'twas  their  kindly  hands 
That  trimmed  the  daisied  turf  and  cropped  the  boughs, 
That  the  blessed  sunbeams  might  stream  freely  down 
Upon  her  verdant  bed.    Weep  not  for  her." 


CONCLUSION.  151 

The  beloved  pastor  still  leads  his  flock  by  the 
side  of  the  still  waters,  and'  points  out  to  them 
the  way  to  heaven.  His  wife  "  reposes  beneath 
his  protecting  tenderness,  walking  in  the  light 
of  his  talents  and  piety  in  confiding  happiness, 
seeming  almost  unconscious  of  a  separate  being." 

The  good  old  doctor  still  lives,  retaining  his 
faculties  perfectly,  and  never  seeming  so  happy 
as  when  surrounded  by  the  children  of  his  Mary 
and  Annette,  stoutly  declaring  that  each  is 
equally  dear  to  him. 

Mr.  Afton  has  for  years  led  a  most  exemplary 
life ;  he  has  become  wealthy,  and  is  universally 
respected,  not  on  account  of  his  prosperity,  for 
"  money  does  not  make  the  man  "  in  the  Valley 
of  Daisies,  but  for  the  excellence  of  his  charac- 
ter, and  for  the  example  which  he  sets  to  his 
neighbors.  His  wife  is  a  healthy  and  happy 
woman,  and  the  now  aged  pair  never  cease  to 
attribute  all  that  they  are,  and  all  that  they 
have,  under  Heaven,  to  the  exertions  and  efforts 
of  Arthur  Burton  in  t&ir  behalf. 


152  THE   CHEERFUL  HEART. 

It  is  whispered  in  the  valley  that  a  double 
wedding  is  soon  to  take  place  between  Mr. 
Crawford  and  Mrs.  Burton,  and  our  friend  Rob- 
ert and  a  modest,  retiring  little  lady,  who  fully 
appreciates  his  many  good  qualities.  The  last 
mentioned  wedding  is  certainly  to  come  off  soon  ; 
but  as  for  the  first,  time  will  show.  "When  the 
young  doctor  is  questioned  about  the  matter,  he 
only  smiles,  and  says,  "  Mr.  Crawford  is  already 
as  dear  as  a  father  to  me,  and  it  will  not  make 
much  difference  in  my  feelings  if  the  two  best 
friends  I  have  in  the  world  are  united  by  a 
closer  tie." 

And  now,  gentle  reader,  we  muk  close  our 
story,  and,  simple  though  it  be,  if  by  it  any  one 
is  taught  to  cultivate  a  cheerful  spirit  like  Ar- 
thur's, and  to  imitate  his  active  virtues,  —  never 
forgetting  that  "there  is"  certainly  "a  silver 
lining  to  every  cloud,"  if  they  will  only  look 
for  it,  —  our  end  will  be  attained,  and  we  shall 
not  have  labored  in  vain. 


PHILLIPS,  SAMPSON,  &  CO. 

PUBLISH  THE  FOLLOWING  JUVENILE  WORKS, 

EDITOR  OF   "  MTOODWOBTH's   TOUTH's    CABINET," 

AUTHOR  or   "  TUK    WILLOW  LANE    BUDGET,"  "  THE   STUAWBERRT   GIRL," 

"the   MILLER   OF   OL'B   VILLAGE,"  "THEODORE   THINKER^i 

TALES,"   ETC.,   ETC. 

UNCLE  FRANK'S  BOYS'  AND  GIRLS'  LIBRARY. 

^  Beautiful  Series,  comprising  six  volumes,  square  V2mo.,  viitA  eight 

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XL  THE  DIVING  BELL;  or,  Pearls  to  be  sodcht  for. 
IIL  THE  POOR  ORGAN  GRINDER,  and  other  Stories. 
IV.  OUR  SUE:  Her  Motto  awd  its  Uses. 

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PHILLIPS,  SAMPSON,  &  CO. 

PUBLISH  THE  FOLLOWING  JUVENILE  WORKS 


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BY  COUSIN  MARY. 

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BY  H.  TRUSTA, 

Anther  of  "  SuHKT  Side,"  "Peep  at  Nuubeb  Five,"  fcc,  fto. 

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PUBIiXSB 

PEEP  AT  "NUMBER  FIVE;" 

Ok,  a  CIIAPTEE  IN  THE  LIFE  OP  A  CITY  PASTOR 
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Aulharqf  ««The   SnNNY  SIDE,"  &c,  &c 
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